Ghost
by not-impressed
Summary: L has some secrets, which he prefers for no one to know about. Unfortunately, people around him are prone to unravel the story of his past and remind him of what he had to go through. Wammy's boys have their own troubles, trying to solve a mysterious case, that eventually leads them to unexpected result. Slightly AU-ish (no Kira or the death note, but Light still has his memories)
1. The kill

A/N: So, here is the story that should be the sequel to 'Dreamer'. This time it won't be Light-centered, rather it will evolve around L, his successors and his past. You don't really need to read 'Dreamer' to be able to understand what's going on here.

Here's all you need to know: one beautiful day Light started having nightmares. After suffering through a year of strange dreams, he found himself in some parallel universe that had no gods of death or magical notebooks, but at least there was L for him. After a year of the relationship, Light decided to tell L the story of his past.

With that being said, let's start.

* * *

**Ch. 1 The kill**

The metallic clanking of fork against plate rings melodically in his eardrums. He sits in front of L Lawliet's hunched form, gazing at the rhythmically moving mouth of the detective who's munching on yet another pastry. Irritating. L's lips twist with each movement of his jaws, his tongue darts out to lick away the cream, that's been left smeared on his lower lip. And to complete the show of food sodomy, L sucks at his fingers, seemingly unfazed by Light's intent stare.

"Is something wrong?" L asks, still not looking at him, eyes plastered to piece of cake on his plate.

"There's one thing I want to ask you about."

"Do you?" he asks softly. "Go on."

Involuntary, Light stares at L's lips, the manipulations he does with them get hypnotizing, but still look extremely gross. He probably wiggles his toe fingers under the table.

"Do I seem different?" Light asks.

"In what way? I did notice the change in your habits, if you're asking about that. You quit smoking. Good."

"No. That's not what I'm talking about," Light frowns, thinking over the subject. He needs to tell L about the death note and all the things, that happened in his past life. And he needs to tell it now. Tomorrow is the day he will forget everything. And he wants to remember. "As I told you... I'm not the one you used to know."

There's a small pause in L's jaw movements, and Light notices how his shoulders tense up just a bit. Almost unnoticeable. Almost.

"Are you?"

"Yes. I want you to listen carefully to what I have to say next. Do you know something about the shinigami?"

"The entities in japanese myth culture. Gods of death or the reapers, if you wish."

"Myth culture... yes. Have you ever wondered how shinigami take the life from human?"

L finally tears his eyes off the plate and chooses to stare at the floor. And for the umpteenth time in their relationship, Light wonders how the hell did he end up stuck in love with this... freak of a nature. Sickeningly pale skin, too dark circles under his eyes, excessively thin body, hair looking as though the last time they were touched by the comb was about a year ago. Too much of exaggerations and accents in one man. Too big eyes, too intent stare, too monotonous speech, too impassive face. These excesses weave and entwine in L, creating a grotesque and frighteningly dark canvas. If Light ever to compare L with a piece of art, he'd name Bosch's triptych "The Last Judgment".

L causes him to have strange sensations, that are almost incompatible with each other. When he sits like he does now – head bowed, finger pressed to his lips, and eyes looking helplessly at nothing in particular – he causes Light to feel something akin to pity and even tenderness. It is the falsest ever feeling, that is similar to the first part of the triptych – the Paradise.

L's sham innocence and vulnerability, however, disappear, as he lifts his head to look into Light's eyes. That is the real confusion. Nothing can be read in those eyes. Absolutely nothing. Generally, when person chooses to wear a mask, they embellish it with emotions. Some do it absurdly and originally, some paint their mask completely unremarkably, other affect people with quality and brightness of false feelings their mask express. But in L's case, he chose to leave his mask untouched. And it looks weird. Repulsive. From the very first he met L, Light felt torn between the desires to never look the detective in the eyes again, or, on the contrary, to never tear his eyes away from L's face. This emptiness, the lack of any emotions, delayed him, forcing to rivet his eyes on that face, because L's face simply contradicted the laws of nature. There can't be absolute void in the world, but L argues with this rule, putting on his lifeless mask.

And L's eyes, his eyes resemble void space in some manner. More specifically, they remind Light of the black holes – warping and irrevocably sucking in everything that comes their way.

"I suppose you have a good reason to talk to me about myths... Raito-kun?" L's voice interrupts Light's thoughts, and young man lifts his gaze to meet the detective's stare. Eyes intent and ready to go deep into the very soul of his interlocutor.

It's no good. He can't form words, can't make feasible sentences that will explain this man all that Light's been through, all the good he had done. Because L remains L, who doesn't believe in supernatural things until they happen with himself. L, who's ready to argue and point at every mistake in judgment he sees. L, whom Light hated (still hates in someway, sometimes) with passion.

"The reason is... I want you to learn more about these myths. Maybe it will give you something to think about."

It's too damn early to tell L. Fuck. Why can't L be doe-eyed and sweet all the time, and not only when he breaks down? But broken, torn apart L doesn't bode well with Light.

"..." L looks at him, head tilted to the side, vague perplexity and curiosity splash deep inside the otherwise blank eyes. "Alright. We will talk about this matter later, when I have enough knowledge and you are ready to tell me what bothers you."

Right.

* * *

L sets his plate aside and hovers fingers over the keyboard. He watches Light from the corner of the eye, intrigued with young man's behaviour. It's been a year since Light appeared at the threshold of his house, looking confident and different from the Light he used to know. It may have been the year and a half that he spent alone, it may have been the change in the way his mind works, it may have been just the process of maturing, but this Light acts not the same as the one L knew before they parted their ways. The change is mostly unnoticeable, but it's there, nonetheless, in the littlest of actions. When feeling down Light used to stoop a bit and walk around with worried expression in the eyes. Now he maintains his proud stance every second. He seems... independent. Distant. Conceited, much more than he used to be. And most of all, there's no purity, that L used to feel and see in Light's eyes.

It's probably just the transformation from the boy to the man. And his words "I'm not the one you used to know" meant the change that happened in his mind settings. But still... It's intriguing. And if Light tells that the answer is hidden in myth, L should check this guess.

The clacking sounds of keyboards fill the air. It's Light, who makes the noises, typing something on his laptop with precision, eyes never leaving the screen. He writes his own story from the very beginning, careful to not miss any detail. It's the letter he addresses himself, and he wants his future self to know and not to forget every little thing. He starts with the day he found the death note, he lists the rules he knows by heart, he writes the names of the first criminals he killed, goes on to his opposition with L, and pays the utmost attention to the time the other world first came to him in the form of the nightmares. He should write it all before the midnight comes. He can't afford forgetting these things.

* * *

The music classroom is dark. They sit on the floor, hidden from the prying eyes behind the desks. The atmosphere is sinister and mysterious, and there's an asquint smirk on boy's lips as he looks at the other two boys in the room with him.

"So," he begins. "The time has finally come. I'm so inpatient to know how far you've managed to come in your searches."

"No need for the pathos," the monotonous voice wedges in. "We all know very well how far each of us have gone."

"Shut up, Cotton Head. Have some respect for the tradition!"

"Tradition? It's just a game, not a tradition, Mello."

"It_ is _a tradition," if looks could kill, then the white haired boy would drop dead here and now.

"Believe, if you wish. L thought of it as of a game."

"L was the leader of our group. He made this 'game' a tradition that helps us to improve our skills and to become like him."

"True. L had become a leader sixteen years ago. You were a newborn back then, and you couldn't possibly take part in the game he created. And by the time you had enough brains to actually solve even the easiest of the tasks, L had already left the orphanage and was well known around the world. So the reason you keep insisting on maintaining the game and worshipping L, confuses me. Neither of us have met him in person. And personally I have no slightest desire to become like the man I don't even know. I consider myself above this."

"Are you finished telling things no one cares about, Near?" Mello asks with a suspiciously sweet smile. "Then shut the fuck up and let us begin. Well, Matt, what have you discovered?"

"Huh?" red haired boy glances up from his Nintendo game. "Oh, right. Here."

Near and Mello watch how Matt fumbles in the pockets of his jeans and then digs out a crumpled piece of paper. Matt clears his throat before starting to read out loud in bored voice.

"On the twenty second of June I was informed about suspicious actions amongst the orphanage people. As I was told, the large group of young men were sneaking outside the orphanage at midnight, coming back at around five in the morning every week. As my informant said, the group went to a nearby hill and did some strange actions, which my informant described as 'the evocation of the devil'. I had a month to solve this mystery." Matt smirked and glanced at Mello. "And now I can tell you all, that the group of people actually consisted of the boys from Coff's group. They all suffer insomnia and read somewhere that walks outside help to cure sleep problems. Mystery solved."

"Wait, wait, wait. But I saw them burning some herbs and mumbling nonsense in Latin!" Mello frowns, looking defiant. "Plus, Coff himself walked around the hill _naked_."

"They burned herbs that induce sleep. Valerian, geranium, lavender... you know? And the things that they mumbled was a periodic table."

"Why?"

"They believe it makes them sleepy. Plus, Roger is allergic to herbs, so they had to find a place where Roger couldn't smell it," Matt shrugs.

"But why Coff was naked?"

"I dunno. He never mentioned the reason for this."

"You talked to him?! That's how you solved the case? You simply asked him?!" Mello almost yelps, clutching at Matt's shoulders with death grip.

"Nope. I just set a camera on the hill the night before they came there, and then retrieved it. I still have a footage of what they did there, if you are interested."

"Okay," Mello frowns. "I believe your word. You solved my case."

"What about my task?" Near asks, drawing some sort of a pattern on the floor with his finger. "Have you managed to make it?"

"Err... No. Not yet. How did you expect me to solve the case, that's been left unattended for fifteen years, in a matter of one month?"

"I expected you to at least gain some results. I myself found the answer, and just wanted to see if you could solve it."

"Well, well, just look at this," Mello scoffs. "First you say that 'this is a bullshit blah-blah-blah, it's just a game blah-blah-blah, I don't want to participate in this blah-blah-blah'. Then you give Matt a task, that he clearly won't have means to deal with, and then you solve it yourself. Are you trying to be a smartass?"

"I am trying to make this game more realistic. I didn't want to make you both spend time thinking over some foolish puzzles, that even a five year old could solve without a help."

"Oh yeah? Then show me your results for my task! Let's see how far have you gone in solving it!"

"I solved it. As I remember, you gave me a task about serial killer. He raped and killed the school girls, dismembered them and send the parts of the bodies to their relatives. You also said that he made a footage of the rape scenes and enclosed the tape to the package with body part. I didn't believe your words from the very beginning, since you said the man was still at large. It was impossible to think that the police left the case unattended. But then you went further and said that the man created a biological weapon, using the blood of his victims. And the weapon he created was named as one of the most dangerous things in the world. And what you asked me to find out, was the name of that biological weapon."

Near glances at Mello with unreadable expression on the face.

"Well, did you learn the name of the weapon?"

"There's no such weapon. And there's never been such killer. And I honestly expected you to have some respect for me, before telling me such a bluntly false story. First of all, even if the killer did exist, what was his aim? Why did he raped and killed girls? Even if the blood of victims that died in agony and fear, could create some sort of a weapon, why did he sent the body parts to the relatives? Did he want to be found or..."

"Shut up! I didn't fabricate the story! You failed, Near."

"Curious thing is that there once indeed was a man, who raped and killed school girls. And there indeed was another maniac, who sent body parts to the close relatives of his victims. Did you read about these murderers and then got an idea how to trick me?"

"The story does exist!" Mello grits his teeth and coils fists, ready to tackle Near on the floor and beat the hell out of him. He's just about to make a move when Matt bursts out laughing.

"I'm sorry, Near, but Mello's actually right! The story he told you about, was from one of Mello's favorite mangas. I read it once too. And the biological weapon there was named... ummm... 'F.O.A.P'. Yeah, I guess that was the name."

Near blinks slowly, looking at Matt with unimpressed face.

"I see. Mello wanted to show me the level of his immaturity. Anyway, I consider the case a trick."

"Fuck you," the blond boy answers, suddenly calm. "You didn't solve the case, was it a trick or not. We never specified that we had to use real crimes. And L's always stressed that it was important for us to be broad-minded. You failed three times at once – failed to solve the case I gave you, failed to be persistent about it, and failed to think above the bounds. So, fuck you."

"What about your cases? Both Matt and myself gave you tasks," Near drawls, curling the strand of his hair around the finger.

"Matt's task was easy," Mello frowns. "The driver visits his lover, that is the answer to his riddle. Right, Matt?"

"Hm?" the boy glances at his friend, seemingly unaware of the exposure of the case.

"Listen when I talk, you, dumbass. A month ago you told me a creepy story you heard in the town. You said that every night, about three o'clock, a bus pulls over a bus stop. It stands completely empty, but the lights are on in the cabin. The bus stays still for hour and a half, and then it drives away. Right?"

"Right."

"So, what I'm telling you, is that I made my investigation and learned that the driver of the bus visits his lover. He's got a wife and a child, who live in the town with him, so he has to hide from the prying eyes. The driver himself spread the rumor about the 'ghost-bus', so that the gapers won't take interest in some bus that stands at a bus stop at night. Well, am I right?"

"I think you are," Matt shrugs. "At least, the last time I was in the town, I heard a saleswoman talking to some crone about the ghost-bus and its driver being an 'unfaithful, cheating skunk'. So, yep, your version doesn't contradict the words of those ladies."

"Prick," Mello deals a fruity slap on the back of Matt's head, and then turns to face Near. "And you..."

"You failed my task, didn't you?" Near deadpans.

"You knew I would fail! I couldn't do anything about it!"

"For your information, you could. You should have been a bit faster with your thinking."

"It wasn't really a fair task," Matt says, returning to his game on Nintendo. "The police had the case four months before Mello. No surprise they got the felons first."

"Yeah! And I'm not even mentioning that we had exams coming by the time I had to deal with the case you gave me. I couldn't tear in half and watch over the felons and study for exams at the same time! No wonder police got the drug dealers before me."

"You failed, Mello. It took you too much time, and you put excessive amount of the effort into a simple task. The drug dealer had an outright simple way of distributing the drugs, so, according to my calculations, you could have had them in your trap in a matter of week." Near's voice holds a hint of condescension as he speaks, looking Mello right in the eye. "But you were too busy with making grand plans and trying to beat me at exam results. It's not surprising that you ultimately failed – your abnormal energy consumption is at fault. And... didn't L also tell us to be wise about resources? It seems you yourself don't follow his preaches."

In a split second after he utters the last words, Near's back hits the ground, and the next moment he looks at Mello, who towers over him, fist in the air, ready to deal another punch.

"Whoa, calm down!"

It's Matt's voice. Near also sees Matt's hand on Mello's shoulder, the hand pats it, and gently but persistently tugs the blond boy off Near's spread body.

"Bigheaded fucking jerk. I hate you. I swear to all the gods there are, I fucking hate you," Mello's voice actually trembles. Is he... is he really offended to such a degree?

Near silently watches Mello scramble at his feet and grit his teeth in angry manner. He seems distressed. Interesting.

"Yeah. But we'll vent your anger later, okay?" Matt says calmly, obviously trying his hardest to relieve the tension. "I think we're done with the first part of our meeting. Time to give new challenges?"

Near carefully touches his cheek. This time Mello's punch was much more painful than usually. He squints his eyes, watching his fellow student breath heavily, still not over his fit of anger.

"Okay. So... " Matt begins, knowing that none of the pugnacious duo is going to speak the next five minutes. "Something weird's been going on lately, guys."

"Oh Jesus, fucking stop with your weird crap, Matt. It's always the same with your stupid tasks. You tell us about some creepy shit, and then it turns out that it all were gossips. I'm honestly tired of wasting time just to learn about what one hen told another," Mello snarls, glaring at the redhead. "Two months ago you told about some whispers you heard at night. You said people were talking, but you couldn't discern the words. And what did I find out? You had crappy speakers, that's what! Your fucking speakers managed to catch a radio wave, and the whispers and talks you heard was just some stupid Dj talking to his audience! I thought the moronic tasks I gave you would make you think more about the cases we give each other, but hell no, first you gave me task about the fucking 'ghost-bus', and now you're on it again. You're hopeless."

Mello hisses, eyes squinted.

"I'm sorry, Mello. I just wanted for us to have some fun with the cases," Matt bites his lip and then frowns. "But this time it's something really strange. So, the other day I was in the town-"

"God fucking dammit. You're talking about rumors again," Mello hides his face in his palms and rubs it energetically.

"No, that's not rumors, actually. Just listen. So, as I said, the other day I went to town to get me some cigarettes. As you both know, there's been a murder three days ago. And, what I'm trying to say, is that I heard my dear saleswoman talking about the incident. The kill seems outstanding and weird for two reasons," Matt shows two glove-clad fingers. "First, it happened in the open daylight. The killer murdered his victim, who was surrounded with friends and relatives on their eyes. Second, and the weirdest, all witnesses swear that the killer had the face of the victim. They say that the one, who killed the woman, looked exactly like her, was even dressed in her clothes. Those, who were lucky to see the murder, say they don't remember things that happened in few minutes before and after the kill. The only thing they remember clearly is the smiling face of the killer, that appeared after the victim fell down. Murderer attacked the woman from behind. First she stabbed her in the stomach, and then slashed open her jugular vein. There was a pool of blood. I saw the cleaners wash it out the pavement. Gross, I tell you. And there's one more thing I want you, guys, to know about..."

He lowers his voice and leans forward, so that his friends won't have to strain their ears to hear the next words.

"Rumor has it that as of lately people in the town have started seeing their doppelgangers... Spooky, isn't it?"

Matt finishes his story and looks at the faces of Near and Mello. The latter seems suspicious about Matt's words, while the former appears completely unaffected. Damn. Matt thought the mysterious murder would get more reaction. He, for one, was amazed to know about the kill and ghastly doubles in his own town.

"You're kidding, right?" Mello finally asks after a long pause. "The murderer probably is the victim's twin sister. She was angry at her twin because that bitch had led her husband away from her, so she decided to make a surprise and cut her slut of a sister in pieces. And people in town are too sensitive for such happenings. No wonder though, nothing ever happens here, so they caught their chance to raise a fuss. Buh-dumm. Case solved."

"No, what the heck, Mello, I'm being serious now! I do have some doubts about this murder."

"Oh yeah? But my conjecture perfectly fits your usual choice of cases. You're just a gossipmonger, face it."

"No. This time I'm serious."

"Really?"

"Matt is right in his worries," Near says quietly. Two boys turn their eyes at him, having completely forgot about the albino's presence. "I wanted to give this task today, but it seems that Matt forestalled me."

"Huh? So you think the case worth spending time, Cotton Head?"

"Yes... You see, the kill in our town is not the first murder with such strange peculiarity," Near starts, eyes locked on the floor. "There were five other victims of this killer. I am one hundred percent certain that in all six cases of killings, the killer is one and same person. There are three similarities I noticed. First – the murderer takes action only when there are people around the victims. Second – the witnesses can't remember what was happening before and after the kill. Third – the killer uses the same method each time: stab the stomach, cut the jugular vein."

"Are you suggesting for me to find the killer that swaps his face?" Mello asks, voice uncertain.

"I suggest nothing for you personally. I want each of us to work on this case and see how far we will come in our findings."

"Won't it be more prudent if we work on the case together?" Matt asks, giving Near a puzzled look. "I mean... hell, the killer is dangerous. What if one of us finds him, but the psycho will chop us down?"

"This time I side with Near," Mello announces suddenly. "Let us try to find the killer."

"Yes... Let the best come out as the winner," Near nods.

"Are you nuts, Mello? I prefer not to bump into the killer with my own face," Matt squirms, feeling uncomfortable. "Near, say something! Aren't you creeped out?!"

"Geez, stop being a pussy. If you're afraid to work on this case – leave it for us," Mello casts a sideway glance at his friend. "I won't give up, Near. And in a matter of month you will be served the killer's head on a plate."

"Bragging won't solve the case. We'll know the truth in a month."

"Exactly," Mello smirks, a devilish glint in his eyes.

"Morons. Both of you are morons," Matt mutters, huffing.

Really, what the hell with this competition? Both Mello and Near are too self-assured. They just haven't seen what Matt witnessed that day in the town. And Matt dearly wishes to never have to meet the sight again. It was too much for a sane person to bear.

Matt shudders at the memory that crops up in his mind's eyes, and hurriedly exits the music classroom after his friends. He will have to worry both Mello and Near about the real danger. Only they won't listen, and Matt knows it far too well.

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	2. Clue

**Ch.2 Clue**

_School bell rolls through the crowded corridor. Students start to disperse, disappearing behind the tall oak doors of classrooms. It's soon that shouts and laughs of hundred of children quieten down._

_ He casts a sideways glance at the tall and sturdy boy, who stands in a little semi-circle of five other boys. The Bulls, how everyone calls them. His so called family. _

_ Each of the boys has a small letter 'B' tattooed at the back of their necks. He still remembers how delightfully painful it was to get this handicraft tattoo on his body. Thin needle prickled and pierced his skin repeatedly, his own blood drained in thin rivets down his neck onto his back and chest. It was the first time he experienced such strange sensations._

_ Boys of his family are strange. Thir – the leader – loves causing pain to himself as much as he loves to do it to others. He is a genius in his own right, like all of them are. Being thirteen, Thir knows biology perfectly and is at one level with the worldwide known doctors and scientists. Maybe his love for dissecting and anatomizing played good for his knowledges. _

_ Pumpkin – a red headed, pudgy, eight year old boy with love for physics. _

_ Pi – the most handsome in their group. Having almost perfect face features and long fair hair, he looks like some kind of elf or maybe a photo-model. Pi has a photographic memory and can quote hundreds of books. _

_ Twins Yo and Zee – born mute. It doesn't prevent them from generating new ideas in technologies and embodying them into inventions. _

_ And A – he's nine. Additionally to his brain capacity, A has a weird talent of imitation. He can perfectly copy the voice and manners and habits of the one, he chooses as the subject of imitation. _

_ There's also another boy in their family. His name is L. Nine years old, just like himself. He has outstanding logic skills, and soon after he was brought to Wammy's House, he accidentally solved some crime, that made him stand out from the rest of the orphans. Wammy treasures him so much, that even assigned a separate room for him. L is also abnormally thin. So thin, that two of his wrists form one of Thir's. _

_ Thir once said L couldn't use his name anymore. There already was A, and Thir didn't want any more anagrams in his family. He wanted to bless L with another name, like he did with every boy in their family. Lex - that was the name Thir intended to give to the new boy. _

_ It's been four years since L joined their family. Joined... but did not become a part of it. He refused to accept the new name. And ever since, he's never talked to anyone from the family. Thir prohibited them talking to the new boy until that boy accepted the new name and got a tattoo on the back of his neck. The same tattoo that each of them has. _

_ He smirks, remembering the incident that happened about a year ago. Yo and Zee made a trap for L, so that Bulls got him surrounded. He still remembers a surge of glee that he felt, when he held L's thin wrists in his hands, keeping the scrawny boy in place while Thir pierced his skin with the needle. L's blood oozed stingily from the little holes on his skin, red and wet. Inviting. _

_ L jerked and let out a whine when Thir plunged the needle too deep into his muscles. Thir probably touched the nerves. The sudden movement caused the needle to break in half, and they spent at least ten minutes, trying to retract the piece of metal from under L's skin. It didn't help. They had to make a cut. Thir took a scalpel and made a swift, precise movement, slitting L's skin. _

_ He watched with bated breath how beautiful the cut turned out to be. Like a blossoming bud. The edges of skin slowly parted, presenting a view of pink flesh that soon turned bright red with blood, that gushed from the wound. It dripped down L's spine, accentuating the curves of vertebrae under his skin. In a moment when Thir retreated the needle and turned away, he quickly bend down and licked at the still flowing blood. He couldn't stop himself. And the anxious tremors that shook L's body made him feel light-headed. _

_ He didn't really catch the moment L freed his wrists from his grip, but the next second he was sent onto the floor, holding his nose that was bleeding profusely. And L ran away. He didn't leave his room for a week after that incident. _

_ "Rue, come over here," Thir beckons him. _

_ "What's the problem?"_

_ "It came to my attention that Lex acquired a friend," Thir says and smirks._

_ "Really? Did he make friends with someone from Rats or is his friend from Birdies?" Pi asks, frowning. "Probably Birds, they are weird enough for him."_

_ "No. Lex may be weird, but he wants to be special, haven't you noticed? Even Wammy singles him out," Thir scoffs. "And, of course, dear Lex chose Bear to be his friend."_

_ Pumpkin gasps. And even B feels surprised. Bear is one of the so called life-teachers. Life-teachers in Wammy's House are men and women, who work in different fields, and come occasionally to teach children about the subject they know the best. Life-teachers also play the role of psychologists, but it's not their obligation. Just some of the life-teachers are too kindhearted. _

_ Bear is a police commissioner. Every Bull knows this man - tall and solidly built, with bright green eyes, dark hair, and kind smile. _

_ "How did he manage to become friends with Bear?" B asks. His throat feels dry._

_ "The hell would I know. I just saw him trying to snuggle up to Bear yesterday. And, surprisingly enough, Bear did pat his shoulder."_

_ "And why are you telling this?" B rises a brow, glancing at Thir._

_ "Lex can't make friends outside the Bulls. It is the rule. I want him to become a true Bull, and I will force him to accept his fate, if I need to." _

_ "But he barely is one of us now. He's got his own room, so..." Pumpkin says weakly._

_ "Are you going to set a trap for Bear?" B asks, rather amused. Thir against Bear? He can bet with his life that Bear will outsmart Thir in every aspect._

_ "I don't have a choice. I can't let Lex stand out amongst us so much. Fucking squirt," Thir grits his teeth._

_ "There's another way to bring L... Lex down," B says quietly, thinking over the idea that just came to his mind. "We don't have means to fight against Bear. But we can break Lex."_

_ "Go on."_

_ "A is a master of imitation..." B mutters, and glances at the quiet boy. "Don't worry. I think I have a plan."_

_ Six months later they are close to their aim of breaking L down. A imitates Bear's voice, talks to L in that voice every moment he can. Not because he wants to. Thir promised to slit A's throat if he ever thinks of disobeying the orders. And there's one more task that A has. A teaches B the art of imitation. And it's soon that B starts looking and acting frighteningly alike L. He copies the manners of the boy, copies his voice, his appearance, copies every little detail that he notices. _

_ L must think he's going crazy. L must soon realize that he's not the best, and not the chosen one. L must realize that there is B, who can surpass him and make fun of him. L must break down. Because... B wants to see what will remain of L once he's broken._

* * *

Light glances at the clocks. An hour left before midnight. Sixty minutes later he will forget himself. Well isn't that an irony – to achieve something just to lose the memory of ever trying hardest to get it. This selective amnesia is degrading.

"I'm going to bed," he announces to L, and sighs, taking the last look at the written memories.

"Goodnight."

Light quirks his eyebrow, taking a surreptitious glance at L. No questions? Good... Knowing L's curiosity, he will take a look at Light's letter for himself. Of course, after that he _will _have questions. But tomorrow Light won't have answers. And that's for the best.

L stares at the computer monitor for ten minutes after the moment door closed behind Light's back. Small white squares of screen reflect in his eyes, that are still skimming over lines on the screen.

There is close to none information about the shinigami. And he doesn't feel surprised about the fact. Even if those things did exist, who could tell about it after their own death? Because, obviously, shinigami are the analog of grim reaper. There's also information about shinigami having their own realm, something akin to Erebus Hades, but without pitiful souls of passed away suffering there.

What exactly did Light want him to find out? The shinigami's weapon? The way they kill humans? It sounds ridiculous. There are no shinigami, therefore there are no weapon they have. But, if L believes the myths, then shinigami take the soul away with their scythe, cutting the strings that connect soul with the body.

He knew this before, and none of the knowledge he has can be connected with Light's change of personality.

L swivels his chair to face the couch and Light's laptop that he left laying there. For four hours straight Light sat there, typing something.

Carefully, L unfolds his legs and steps on the floor, shuffling to the couch and taking the laptop in his hands. As soon as he pushes open the lid, a document pops up on the screen. It doesn't have name, and there's only one line on the first page: _"Read it carefully, for what I tell here, is the truth."_

L glances at the lower left corner of the screen – sixty seven pages. There's got to be a good reason for Light to waste his time writing something like this.

There's barely noticeable smirk on L's lips, as he takes the laptop to his desk and sets it there, ready to learn about whatever truth Light's got to confess.

_"How to use the Death Note: __1. __The human whose name is written in this note shall die..._

_October 23__d__, 2006: I found a black notebook... Death Note... Incident in kindergarten... Otoharado Kuro... Death from heart attack... Just a coincidence. _

_October 24__th__, 2006: Shibumaro Tako... Girl was being molested... Death from accident... Death note is real...World is better off without scum._

_October 29__th__, 2006: There are one hundred and twenty three names in the Death Note – most renowned criminals are dead... Shinigami Ryuk is the owner of the death note I use... With the help of the death note I will build the world anew._

_November 15__th__, 2006: people gave me alias – Kira... My actions attracted the attention of the police... They secured support from the detective L... He tricked me and got to know that I couldn't kill without knowing the name and seeing the face... L declared war on Kira._

_December 14__th__, 2006: L enlisted FBI...Raye Penber was amongst those, who watched over the suspects. _

_December 19__th__, 2006: ...conducted some experiments with the death note...FBI won't be a problem anymore._

_December 20__th__, 2006: ...the incident in the bus to get Penber's name._

_December 27__th__, 2006: With Raye Penber's help, I got rid of other twelve FBI agents...L is left without support and will have to ask for help of the police... They will find L for me._

_February 1__st__, 2007: Naomi Misora is Penber's fiancee...she learned that Kira's able to use incidents at the cause of the deaths...died from suicide._

_February 15__th__, 2007: L sets surveillance at my house._

_March 24__th__, 2007: First met L in the examination hall._

_April 6__th__, 2007: L confessed at being the detective at the entrance ceremony...Since we are now friends, I can keep close eye on him._

_April 10__th__, 2007: The appearance of the second Kira..."_

He stares intently at the screen. What are these notes?.. They look like the journal entries, but what Light described here, never really happened. Is this some kind of a fiction story?

L keeps reading the entries, which are getting more detailed and meticulously described with the progression of the story. He notices a large gap between the short note, dated November 5th, 2007:_ "I won. L is dead"_, and the note dated 19-20th January, 2009: _"The first time I had the nightmare..."_.

It's quite surprising that Light described his nightmares so vividly, as though they mattered. But as L reads further, it becomes obvious that since the first time Light had the nightmare, they became a matter of concern.

_"June 6__th__, 2009: The nightmare changed. I saw L in my dream..._

_ June 13__th__, 2009: My sleep lasted for a week...doctors said it to be a lethargy. _

_ July 5__th__, 2009: L came to me in dreams again...this time sleep lasted for four days."_

L feels his cheeks redden and pale alternately, while he reads what Light saw in his dreams. The details are awful, because Light wrote down every single word that L said to him. Things, that Light described in those 'dreams', are the things that had a place in reality.

_"September 27__th__, 2009: Ryuk shared with me his thoughts about the dreams I had. He said they were not the dreams, but the glimpses of some parallel world in which my twin lived. He also said that there was no way to tell how I opened the gates to another world, but he made it clear that my state of hanging between the two realms couldn't last forever. Ryuk said that I could either shut the gates with my will, or die in my realm to come back to life in the body of my twin. As the shinigami, he couldn't let the latter happen, and wanted to kill me at place. We came to the agreement that he could kill me the day, my sleep lasts for too long again._

_ September 14__th__, 2010: A year passed with almost no dreams...the last dream I had, I saw myself falling off the roof._

_ March 8__th__, 2010: Woke up at the hospital...What Ryuk said was the truth, I died in my realm._

_ July 26__th__, 2010: ...it was Matsuda, who nudged me into finding L here..._

_ December 19__th__, 2010: ...finally managed to determine L's location...the problem is he doesn't know anything about me... _

_ January 10__th__, 2011: This L is almost the precise copy of L from my realm... even if he suspects anything, he doesn't say about it... too early to tell him._

_ March 8__th__, 2011: It's been a year since I am here...Even if I tell, he won't believe...I still have time...I don't want him to think of me as of insane._

_ June 20__th__, 2011: The time is running out...I will lose my memories if I won't hurry up and find a way to keep my memories of the death note..._

_ July 17__th__, 2011: I planned to tell him today...sometimes I hate that he looks and acts so much like L...I couldn't tell him. Instead, I wrote down everything I could remember...he will find it and he will read it...tomorrow I won't have any memories."_

L blinks slowly. He lowers his gaze and notices few other lines, written in a smaller print.

_"I know what you think. I am not crazy. This is not an insane rabble. Believe me or not – it's your choice. I wanted to save your memories, future me. And... partially, I wanted L to know about what I've been through. _

_ You're probably reading this while I sleep, L. And before you are able to say me anything, I want you and myself to know that I do not regret a thing I did."_

L presses thumb to his lip, rereading the document from the very beginning, mentally highlight important dates and happenings. There is one name Light once mentioned that bothers him deeply – Ryuzaki. It is possible, that Light's mention of this name is just a coincidence, but still... No. There is no chances that Light knew him. If he did, he'd probably be dead now.

L sighs, while skimming through the pages. He wants to find a mistake, some false in logic, a little mismatch in Light's words. But the whole story is a discrepancy, and if L ignores the improbability of anything like this happening in reality, he can just as well believe each word. There is no point in believing or distrusting Light's story, because there is no real way to verify it, to prove it true or false. What is important, however, is the fact that Light wanted him to believe.

Better leave all of Light's 'secrets' in peace for now. L can ask him about this later, when Light is in his right mind again. How frustrating... he thought that Light was over his delirium, but he's obviously not. Insanity is incurable. It may subside, sooth down, but it will surely manifest itself one day. And this story of Light is yet another sign of his mental instability. Or not?..

* * *

"Psst," Matt whispers and throws a small crumpled piece of paper on Mello's desk.

It's the geography lesson, and everyone in the class is busy with marking their maps and making notes. Mello frowns and unfolds the paper, trying to decipher Matt's scribbles.

"_What's up? Last night you didn't come to bedroom. You were also late for the class, and you look like shit today."_

Mello glares at his friend, who has his hands hidden under the desk, obviously once again playing on his console. He huffs and quickly writes his response, tossing it to Matt, aiming for the paper to hit him in the face. He misses his target and sticks out his lower lip in indignation.

_"I was in the library. Gotta catch that bastard before Near. Learned the places of previous murders and tried to find more connections between them. Fell asleep there and nobody cared to wake me up until it was nine a.m."_

Mello blinks slowly, listening to teacher droning something about minerals, lakes and rivers, when one more note lands before him.

_"What did you find out?"_

_ "__Newbury, Oxford, Banbury, Rugby, Stratford upon avon. Why so interested all of a sudden? Aren't you afraid?"_

He waits for Matt's reply, and when it doesn't come in the next five minutes, he shakes his head and stares at the key map, he has splayed upon the desk before him. Damn... He spent the night in the library, searching for the murders details on the Internet. He skimmed through the books and files of old cases, trying to find anything that could give him a lead, or at least show him a way in which he has to investigate. He searched for some clues in the victims past, in places the murders happened, he even tried to create a puzzle from the names of the cities and the names of the victims. When he didn't succeed with any of that, he began thinking of another way to solve the case, but ended up falling asleep. When Mello woke up he was not only late for the breakfast, he was also late for the first lesson.

He squints his eyes, thinking that Near, probably, sits in his class with smug smirk plastered on his face, having already predicted the place of the next murder. But how? What is the gist of the killings, that is the thing Mello can't understand. Does the murderer kill only for the sake of killing?..

He draws with his pencil on the map absentmindedly, connecting the places, where murders happened, with thick line. Stratford... Rugby... Banbury... Oxford... Newbury... and Winchester...

Mello blinks, looking at the map. What in the...

He doesn't have a chance to finish his thought, as Matt pokes him in the side. When Mello turns to face Matt, he sees a map of England instead of his friend's face. And, just like on Mello's, the towns on the map are connected with one line, forming a figure – 1.

* * *

Two and half hours later, he and Matt are sitting in the canteen, Mello shovels up his mouth potato mash and chicken legs, and tries to share his thoughts with Matt at the same time.

"I think the killer wanted to say it was his first move," he says, swallowing a big lump. "Something like – hey, look, it's just a beginning."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Matt raises his eyebrow. "But what's more important is to learn how he does that trick... the one, that makes people think that it's the victims killing themselves."

"Ah, the face-swapping," Mello nods. "I dunno. He doesn't make long preparations, does he? I doubt that our killer stalks the victim and strikes when he's ready to imitate the person so well, that even close relatives can't tell the difference."

"What about the victims themselves? Maybe there's a connection between them?"

"No. There is no connection between the murdered. And you two shouldn't talk about the case in a place like this," the monotonous voice declares, and the next moment Near flops on the chair beside Matt.

"What are you doing here, Cotton Head?" Mello snarls. "Are you stuck with your investigation, and now try to get information by bugging?"

"What a funny joke, Mello. Are you aiming for a job at Comedy Club? Because you're obviously not doing well as a detective."

"Pffft," the blond boy makes a grimace. "Well, at least I can make a joke, while you fail it."

"Oh god, there they go again," Matt mumbles, shaking his head.

"We're not going anywhere," Near says firmly and glances to his left with indifferent face. "Actually, I merely wanted to give you both a caution. Since the first move is done, the killer is aiming for something bigger. I don't want any of you to end up dead, so be wise with what you're intending to do."

"Ah, how sweet!" Mello coos. "And since when are you in any way concerned about me or Matt? Don't you wish for us both to get some fatal disease, so that we won't be able to ruin your plans on taking over the world with your smart panties?"

"I never wished AIDS upon you two," Near starts fiddling with the lock of his hair. "I'm simply being careful about resources."

"Hey! What in the hell AIDS has to do with this?!" the creak that Mello's teeth create is painful to hear. "And mark my words, I am in no way your 'resource', so you can stick your cautions up your ass and hobble out of here."

"You should know better, what AIDS got to do with both of you," Near casts a dispassionate glance at Mello. "I mentioned it just as an example of a fatal disease. And, want it or not, you _are_ a resource, like all of us here."

"You fucking piece of crap, are you trying to say that Matt and me are quee..."

"Near, before you go, please listen," Matt interposes before Mello ends his phrase.

"Yes?"

"I never had a chance to tell both of you what I saw that day in town," Matt says, a serious frown on his face. "I am not completely sure about this, but I want you to know nonetheless. After I walked out the shop, I went back to the orphanage, but... on the way here, I noticed something strange. I decided to take a shortcut, you know – the alley between houses, and that's where I stumbled on him. He was the same height with me, had the same hair, same clothes... I was so shocked, that I simply gaped at him for a good minute, and then he turned around. I don't really remember what happened next... I think we stared at each other – my twin and me, and then he disappeared. I was creeped out to such a degree, that for a minute I just stood there, gawking at the spot he stood at."

"You want to say... you bumped into the murderer?" Mello whispers, staring at Matt.

"I don't know. He didn't kill me, right? Maybe it was not the murderer?" the red haired boy asks with some kind of hope in his words.

"You saw him," Near says, peering at Matt with serious face. "That may be the reason he didn't kill you. None of the victims saw the killer, remember?"

"What happened next? Did you searched through the alley?" Mello asks impatiently.

"No, I'm telling you, I was too scared to even move! But there's one thing I did notice. There were droplets of blood on the ground, where the killer stood."

"That's very informative," Mello huffs. "Dammit. I still wonder why did he ran away. He had no reasons. He could simply slaughter Matt in the alley, and no one would suspect a thing."

"Why, thank you, Mello," Matt mutters resentfully.

"Personally I see few reasons for the killer not to murder Matt," Near begins, but doesn't get a chance to utter his thoughts as Mello interrupts him.

"Yeah, I see them too. First – Matt has seen the killer, while other victims didn't have such chance. Maybe our killer just wants to keep his style. Second – even if Matt saw him, there's nothing he can tell about the killer, aside from the fact that he looked exactly like Matt. Third – the killer had been already done with the first part of his plan and didn't need any more victims. And fourth – maybe Matt caught him in the moment the killer did something... indecent, who knows?"

"Matt knows, but doesn't remember," Near murmurs, and shakes his head. The bell rings above the heads of three boys, indicating the end of the lunch break. "As I said... please, be wise and cautious in your next steps."

Near stands from his seat and walks to the doors of the canteen. Matt glances at Mello, who already munches at the chocolate he got from his bag.

"I swear, Cotton Head's found some lead and wants to hinder my progress now."

"Why don't you think he's being sincere in his worries?"

"Sincere? Don't be naïve, Matt. There's nothing sincere in Near, especially when it comes to the cases. If I find the lead, I will go all the way with it."

Matt stays quiet, watching his friend hurriedly hang his bag on the shoulder. They walk out the canteen in silence. It's just as Matt thought – neither Mello, nor Near took his precaution seriously. But... isn't that weird? That the killer could obtain Matt's appearance while not even facing him? The case is not a joke... hopefully, he will be able to stop Mello from whatever dangerous thing he's going to do. But yet again, Matt deeply suspects that instead of stopping his friend, they'll get into a pretty mess together. Ah, how he wishes for L to retire again. During the year that L spent being inert, they never had to struggle for cases or put their lives at risk.

* * *

Thank you for reading


	3. Center

**Ch. 3 Center**

_Thir tells him to stop acting like L, because it doesn't help. Thir might as well fuck off. It has become a habit for B. It's fun to watch L trying everything to make B uncomfortable in his skin. L has started sitting in a fetus position for hours to no end, folding his legs so that they almost press against his chest. He does it because he thinks B won't pull it off. _

_ Thir says they need to find a new way to break L. Thir wants to destroy L almost as much as B does. The difference lays in B's desire to look at L's real face, because the stoic mask he wears as of lately. is not what B wants to see. He wants the glimpse of L's real inside... the glimpse, he was able to witness when Thir tried to make a tattoo on L's skin. While Thir merely wants L to bow before his authority. A good desire, but Thir is not worthy. _

_ A acts strangely. Yesterday he threw a silent tantrum in the shower. He coiled his body into a shaking ball on the floor and hit the wall with his fist until the water that was dripping down the drain turned pink. Pi tried to comfort A in someway. Pi has always been too kind. _

_ It was today's morning that Wammy noticed the state of A's hand. It is a miracle that Wammy still sees anyone aside L. While L's subject of attention is Bear. But Bear doesn't come to Wammy's every day. And when L is left without his protection, it's so easy to get on his nerves, mirroring his actions and facial expressions. But as of lately, L's also became careful with his face. He doesn't show his emotions anymore. It's becoming boring, but B still manages to take L by surprise and show him the face he makes, when he's frightened._

_ L is so dependent on Bear, it's sickening. The man has nothing special in him. And Bear does nothing to console L. He just sits there with dumb face and listens to what L's got to say, and then tells him something about his own family or the 'funny' things that once happened to him. _

_ And right now B watches L chatting away with Bear. They sit on the bench in the courtyard, while B hides behind a large branchy tree. It seems, Bear enjoys the conversation with a nine year old. _

_ Bear fumbles in the pocket of his cloak and then drags out a colorful lollipop. He hands it to L, and L's face lits up. B watches in disguised amazement how L smiles and timidly wraps his arms around Bear's thick hand, just for a second. _

_ L smiled. It was the first time B saw L smiling. He's got to imprint the image in his memory, and then train himself to imitate the smile perfectly. _

_ Late in the evening B stands before the mirror, smiling at his twin he sees in it. He stretches his lips, just like L did, he squints his eyes a little, he tries to make the corners of his mouth to go up, and the smile looks almost identical to L's. For a few long moments B stares at the smiling face in the mirror, and it takes less than a moment for his smile to fade. There's irritation in his eyes, as he glares vehemently at his own face. The smile is not perfect. Something is off. The movements of his facial muscles are perfectly identical, but still, smile doesn't look right. How is he supposed to show L this face, when he can't imitate it? B stares in the mirror. _

_ L was smiling because of Bear. What if Bear will once again do something to bring a smile on L's face? It's not right when L smiles. It's not the face of the real L. B can't imitate L's smiling face, and that means L can't wear the smile anymore. Because if B can't do it, L can't do it either. _

_ Didn't Thir say that they needed a new way to break L? Excluding Bear is the best way to do it. And they need to get rid of Bear in the cruelest way possible, so that it will affect L the most. _

_ Three days later his family comes up with a final plan. It's irritating that B has to push his ideas in Thir's mind the way that makes Thir think that it's his own thoughts. Thir is stupid, but at least he's enthusiastic about the prospect. Unlike the rest of his family. _

_ Pi frowned, when he heard about the plan. He was the first and the last to claim the idea crazy, and refuse to participate. Thir punched him in the face. It made Pi rethink. Yo and Zee shrugged and then nodded, handing Thir a note that said "Will help to make preparations". Pumpkin actually cried and ran away. He won't take part in their plan, because he's now in the hospital wing, laying there with concussion and broken leg. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't Thir who maimed him. In his hurry, Pumpkin didn't notice a long stair and fell down from it. _

_ As for A... A now reminds of a broken doll. Upon hearing the plan, he didn't express any emotions and stared at Thir apathetically. Silence implies consent... or at least Thir took it that way._

_ The Halloween comes the next month. At Halloween night it is allowed for teachers to stay longer in Wammy's to celebrate the holiday. That means they will have a chance to catch Bear off-guard, for they know that at such parties, adults usually get drunk. Everything should be easy. Since it's Halloween, every orphan will wear a costume, so they won't be easily recognized. _

_ Pi's task is to distract L and not let Bear see him in the costume. Yo and Zee will put the drug that A will provide them with, in Bear's drink. And then B will come up to Bear, pretending to be L. Bear shouldn't be able to tell the difference between them, especially when the drug will kick in. B will lead Bear into the courtyard, where he and L usually talk with each other. By the time they will get there from the canteen, Bear should hardly be able to stand straight. And when Bear will fall down... Thir is ought to make his move and stab him. Not to death. Just a little poke with a knife. Thir, with his knowledge of anatomy, should know how to stab a person and not make it lethal. And in result, Bear should say that it was L, who did this to him. And there won't be a smile on L's face anymore. Rather, L will put his true inner world on the display again. _

_ When Halloween night finally comes, they are ready. They repeat the plan for the final time, and then walk out the room one by one, going downstairs. The atmosphere is sinister, and the decorative spider webs, carton ghosts and eerily glowing carved pumpkins do nothing to relieve the tension. _

_ B likes this evening nonetheless. It's the big night with big surprise. He doesn't notice small cackles that leave his throat until Thir sends him a weird look. _

_ Everything goes smoothly. Pi distracts L, getting him caught in the trap with the help of few girls, whom he persuaded to show L some math problem that supposedly no one could solve. A silently hands a small pill to Yo and Zee, and then twins venture in the room where all adults have gathered. Zee shows Bear some weird mime's motions, while Yo puts the drug into Bear's glass. No one notices Yo's move._

_ Here it comes... B feels his lips twitch in a smile, and he shakes his head curtly to regain the control over his own face. He waits a couple of minutes before he shuffles to Bear and tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, casting his eyes downwards and saying in a quiet voice:_

_ "Could you... talk to me, please?" His voice sounds so much like L's, that for a second he believes his own acting. _

_ Bear doesn't ask questions. B feels Bear's palm on his shoulder, it grips him tightly and reassuringly. Such a father-like gesture. _

_ He feels a prick of poisonous ire deep in his heart. That's why L likes Bear so much. This false feeling of respite and comfort that Bear gives so carelessly, is what L searches for. _

_ Bear turns his back to him, to lead the way to the courtyard, and B glares at the broad shoulders of the man. Bear is a fake. He doesn't care about L, he couldn't even make a distinction between B and L. He doesn't care. Nobody ever cared. Nobody._

_ B turns his head slightly and sees Thir's shadow ten steps behind. Good. _

_ When he and Bear are finally in the courtyard, the man staggers in his steps. _

_ "What's wrong?!" B asks in a high pitched voice, barely containing the glee in his tone._

_ "Nothing. Don't worry, L, I just need to sit down."_

_ Bear's voice is hoarse and the words he says are slurred. Soon he will fall down._

_ B watches the man shuffle to the bench unsteadily. He waits for Bear to sit down, and then sneaks at his side, pressing his body close to Bear's. B leans into the man's ear, putting his arm over Bear's shoulder and stroking his temple with his finger, while whispering:_

_ "Are you feeling good, Bear?"_

_ The man doesn't answer him and tries to bat his hand away. But his limbs shouldn't have any strength left in them now, so after few failed tries, he stops his tryings and slouches._

_ "I know you like it," B whispers, his lips grazing Bear's ear. "You always wanted it, did you not? That's why you wasted your time on me and brought me candies. You are a filthy pedophile, who wants my body. And..."_

_ B lets out a chuckle that he's been holding, burning Bear's cheek with his breath. He sticks out his tongue to flick it against man's skin. It's salty, and skin is rough with the bristle. B cups Bear's face in his palms and turns man's head to face him._

_ "I despise you," he says gently, rubbing his thumb against Bear's cheek. "I was fooling around with you, just so I could laugh at your silly words and pathetic stupidity. Ain't that funny, Bear? Laugh with me."_

_ Bear shakes his head mutely, still making vain attempts to brush B off of him._

_ "I said: laugh," B hisses, and it's some animal instinct that takes over him, when he presses his lips against Bear's and bites on them. The blood has salty metallic taste, and it makes the buds on his tongue cheer, and his whole body sing and tremble with some strange wave of pleasure._

_ After a long minute of drinking Bear's blood, B pushes the man away. He looks into the hazed green eyes, which widen abnormally for a second. B smirks, glancing down at Bear's stomach - blood oozing and quickly staining his white shirt. When Bear falls down on the ground, B sees Thir who stands with a knife still clutched in his hand._

_ "What the hell were you doing?" Thir hisses angrily. "We didn't plan anything like..."_

_ "Please be quiet," B says softly and snatches the knife out of Thir's grip._

_ "What..."_

_ Thir stares at B, who kneels over Bear's prostrated body. Has B gone crazy? Because right now Thir watches his accomplice whisper something in Bear's ear and then grip at his hair, hefting his head and swiping the knife against the skin of Bear's neck. The blood spills on the ground, soon creating a puddle that spreads wider with each moment. _

_ Crow caws loudly somewhere above their heads. Thir wakes up from his daze and turns his back to the horrific scene, running away as quickly as he can. The last thing he saw, was B aiming another blow for Bear's dead body._

* * *

Gears in Light's brain slowly set into action as he opens his eyes. Something heavy presses him down, making it hard to breath. He blinks, still not even half-awake, and glances down at his stomach. Two round, owlish eyes greet him. L lays on top of his body, his chin propped on Light's chest, while he silently stares in young man's eyes.

"Hi," Light greets him, laying immobile.

L keeps on with his creepy stare for few more seconds, and then swiftly wraps his fingers around Light's throat. His grip's tight and strong as he stifles Light's breath, squashing his trachea. Light fumbles underneath him, trying to get away from L's clutches, to no avail. The muscles in his arms are too limp for Light to succeed and throw L off of him.

"Ryuzaki..." he wheezes, fingers curled weakly around L's wrists.

L stares at young man's reddened face underneath him, and, finally, his grip loosens. After a few moments he lets go of Light's neck completely, slacking his stance and letting his body flag against Light's.

L hears his labored breathing and feels the spasmodic rises of Light's chest beneath him. Hiding his face in the crook of Light's neck, he nuzzles into skin and whispers, lips pressed against the restless pulse.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

Light's voice is quiet and raspy. He still is not quite over L's completely unexpected assault. What the hell came over L that made him jump on Light and try strangling him? Did he read Light's written memories and...

Something clicks in Light's mind, and he can feel his eyes widen with surprise. It's been exactly 480 days since he touched his death note the last time. That means he should have no memories of ever holding it in his hands. But his mind isn't covered with fog, and there's no any uncertainty about his own past. He remembers everything clearly. He even called L 'Ryuzaki' moments ago, just because the alias is what he's accustomed to use when addressing L.

Light squints his eyes at the mess of black hair, that hides the face of his lover. He's just about to open his mouth and ask the question that's on the tip of his tongue, when L chooses to speak up.

"It was a test. I wanted to check... You do remember."

"Do you..." Light falters for a moment, choosing the words that should be most suitable for this kind of situation. "You think it's my 'insanity' speaking, don't you?"

"What do you want me to say in response?"

"I want the truth."

"Truth is a loose concept. You should know it better than anyone."

"Are you trying to beguile me? Then just answer yes or no. Did you read the document I left open on my laptop?"

"Yes."

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

"No."

"Does that mean you believe my story?"

"No."

"Damn it. Then what do you think?"

"I think you are an incredible person, Raito-kun," L lets out a quiet breathy laugh and lifts his head to look into Light's confused eyes. "Each time I think there's nothing you can surprise me with, you make a move that I wasn't expecting."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Light frowns and nudges L to slide off his body. He then props himself on one elbow and takes L's shoulder in his palm, looking sternly into L's eyes. "Listen, I know you don't believe me, and I'm not going to force you into trusting my words, but at least try to take them seriously. Don't just brush it off like it doesn't matter, and don't pretend to be oblivious. I can see through you."

"And what do you see, Raito-kun?"

"You are a coward. You never say what's truly on your mind, even if telling the truth won't harm you in any way. And all the while you're trying to preach me about the good that the truth has in it. I honestly don't know whom are you trying to trick – me or yourself. There is... some shield around you, and even when you're at your utmost open state, I still can sense you hiding away. You think no one understands that, but I do. I know your weakness. Do you wonder how I found that weakness of yours? It's really funny, because everyone deems your weakness to be your strength. Have you ever noticed, that it's difficult for you to answer the question that doesn't have an exact wording? You're used to think analytically, you file and label people that surround you. Basically, in your mind there's a tag on each person and situation you know. And when something doesn't suit your usual way of thinking, you hide your true thoughts on the matter until you can find a 'logical reasoning'. Earlier I thought that it was your way of playing the game, but now I see that you're just too scared to play cards other than indifference or coldness, because you think such a move will put you into danger, you're not willing to deal with. I find it ironic that you're so willing to be patronizing and try and serve me as some psychological help, while you yourself can't deal with your own fright."

Light sighs, and runs his fingers through the wild strands of L's hair.

"You may think that you are special and misunderstood, when in reality you are frightened and tired... Here I share my memories with you, I let you know all the things that I've done, and all you say is that I'm an incredible person that keeps you entertained. But do you really feel this way? No. In reality, you are scared. Scared, that my 'insanity' will return, and even more scared that all the things that I wrote about, are real. There's nothing I can do to fight away your fright, because I know that you will put on a show of calming down, while in reality you will be burdened with even more fears and thoughts," Light crawls a bit closer on the bed to L, and wraps his arms around him. "I just want you to know, that when you have doubts or when you're feeling down, you don't have to try and stand tall around me. I know you. And I want you to share with me whatever is on your mind. I want you to trust me."

They lay in silence for a minute, and then Light feels L's fingers clutch at his arms, while L himself lets out a mirthless chuckle.

"That's what I've been talking about... Raito-kun never ceases to surprise me."

"Eru... I wrote down all of my memories, because I thought that I would lose them. But after you woke me, I realized that I could still remember things that happened to me. I don't understand this... It's impossible to think, that the rule was fake."

"You keep insisting that you are not Raito whom I used to know?" L asks him, voice drowsy.

"Yes. Can't you tell the difference?"

"There is a difference... But I can't really process that things you are talking about, are real. To be honest, they remind me of cheap horror stories."

"It's okay. I expected such answer."

"But even if what you say is the truth, I can't help but feel unaffected with it..." L mumbles, pressing a finger against his lower lip. "You wrote that in the parallel world there was another me whom you killed."

"Yes...?"

There's an anguish feeling in Light's chest, as he waits for L to continue his thought.

"You feel tense and overprotective about the matter. I could sense it even while reading what you wrote. Are you feeling guilty in someway, perhaps?" L stares at him, once again probing at Light's soul.

"I... No, I don't feel guilty. Neither I have any regrets. But each time I look at you, I'm reminded of another you, and the feelings I get make me confused. I don't really know how to describe it. I never truly hated you back then. You were just... an obstacle. No, rather, the thing that happened between us, was a competition that I desperately longed to win. Of course, there were times I dearly wished to strangle you with my bare hands. You put me through so much shit, and tried to humiliate me every possible way... I still feel rage-blinded when I think about what you did to me. But there were also times when I wished I could learn something about the real you. I am still uncertain about my feelings towards the detective I used to know."

"I see. You suffer a cognitive dissonance, it's quite normal for your case. But if it makes you feel better, I'm not holding a grudge against you. As you said... it was a competition," L quirks his non-existent eyebrow. "What bothers me more – did you believe that you could make things better with your actions?"

"Why? Can't you understand my logic?" Light glances quizzically at L, and pauses for few seconds. "You see... The world is designed in such a way, that sooner or later but each sentient being faces the choice... some call it the choice between good or bad. I think it's the choice between humility and riot. I hate this word – humility. It means submission, it means that one must accept the injustice of the world, must realize that they have no say in their own life. This single fact should make any person livid and hurt. I was lucky to be the one who picked up the death note. Because upon finding the death note, I was presented with the chance to make the difference in the old rules... I still think that the whole world is sickening, and people are rotten, each of them. One can call every human being a felon, for each of them have committed a crime at certain point in their lives, even if they were unaware of the offense they did. Hell, the very concept of 'crime' was made-up by people, who barely had enough knowledge of what was ought to be called a crime, who couldn't imagine what would become of the world centuries later. The world we live in now is unjust and impure. One may think that all people are different, but that's not the truth. There are two categories of people – first and the largest is the mob, and second is the elite: the heroes or the geniuses who lead the crowd, who do it because it's their historical right and necessity. I despise both of them. I can't stand to see all the things, that one group of humans does to another. I can't tolerate the filth that spreads within the crowd... The world is falling apart because of such confrontation and scantiness. And back when I was seventeen... for me it was the choice – either to become a rascal and a coward, or to make a drastic change and save the world and myself from being devoured. I was sure that I was able to take a lead, for I strongly believed in my theory and knew that my actions would do good for the humanity. Killing criminals was a perfect idea, because it didn't affect normal people, but rotten scums who thought themselves to be the elite, were stricken by panic, living in fear for their lives."

L looks at Light thoughtfully for a long moment, before saying in a calm voice:

"Do you still have this belief in your theory?"

"Yes. I am certain that I would have succeed in my plans, hadn't I been taken here... in this realm. But it seems I lost much of my fervor here," Light sighs.

"You say there are two categories of people... The mob and the elite. How do you differ between them? What if the one, who's a genius or a hero, will turn out to be a fake?"

Light lets out an amused chuckle and playfully ruffles L's hair, while saying in a merry tone:

"That's quite an easy question. If the genius or the hero is fake, there's no need to try and figure out the difference between the real representative of the elite and the impostor – the history will strike him out anyway. People will cross him out."

"You want to say, that the fake leader will surely end up defeated?"

"Yes. Yes, you got me right."

"Then what about me?" L asks, looking Light straight in the eye. "Me, in the world you came from. I lost to you there, didn't I? Does the fact of my loss make me a fake? Am I not worthy?"

"That's quite different... I've always considered you to be my equal."

"No, Raito-kun, there is no difference. You believe in you theory, hence you shouldn't make any exceptions. Isn't it unjust, if you favor one person over the others?" L stares at him, and the look in his eyes makes Light uncomfortable with each second. "I would ask you in what category you rank yourself, if I didn't know the answer already."

"And you think you do know? Tell me then. After all, I wanted for you to finally share your thoughts," he can't help but let a slight jeer to sneak in his voice.

"Your choice of words makes it clear that you consider yourself above the two categories, you were talking about. You also believe in the unlimited will of a sentient being, more precisely, in your own unlimited will and the absolute power you thought you obtained with the death note. I believe those claims of yours can be called 'superhuman', or to put it simply, you imagined yourself a god for those, whom you supposedly were saving, while in all honesty you only wished to stand high above everyone else. Above the two categories of people."

"I was saving them. I was ought to become a god of the new world that I was creating."

"According to your own words, it was a riot for you."

"I don't argue this."

"But was your riot successful in the end? I'm not even talking about the consequences of your actions, I'm talking about your state of mind. Usually, rebellion and resistance lock the individual in their own little world, alienate them from the rest of the humans. Did you want it? Did you want to be left alone?"

Light looks at him, sparkles of cold anger evident in the eyes. He then rises from the bed abruptly and starts dressing.

"Fuck you," he says calmly, buttoning up his shirt. "You understood nothing."

"I beg to differ. I think I understand Raito-kun perfectly well," L objects, watching Light from his spot on the bed. "Raito-kun is as two-faced, as I am."

"Yes, you are a hypocrite. Good to know you acknowledge this."

"While I am a terrified child, who is also a cold egoist that embodies the Law itself, Raito-kun is a kind altruist, who is also a self-centered misanthrope that's ready to commit a murder just to test the strength of his character," L rolls on his back, and looks at the inverted image of Light, head dangling from the bed's edge. "Aren't I right?"

"You know what... I'm tired. It's all fun and giggles for you, because you don't really care about the things that happened back in my world. I don't know what I've been truly expecting upon deciding to share my memories with you."

"But you did share them... Why?"

"I told you I thought I would lose them," Light mutters irritably, standing fully clothed before L, hands crossed on his chest.

"I think that's not the real reason. You shared with me because you wanted understanding. Because you wanted for me to understand your choices and not condemn them," L crawls out of the bed lazily, to stand in front of Light. "I'm sorry, Raito-kun, but I can't agree with your theory. However, I don't despise you for your actions either, because there is one thing that makes your story different, at least for me."

"And that thing is?"

"You love me. And... to tell you the truth, when you talked to me about your beliefs with such passion, it made me think that maybe people aren't that hopeless."

"Oh god, what the hell are you talking about? How can my love for you be correlated with my actions?" Light almost rolls his eyes.

"Well... I consider the ability to accept people as they are, and love them as they are, to be a spiritual feat that results in personal growth. People do not change, no matter how many centuries pass. But the feeling that's called 'love' did miracles to them all that time, still does. You might not be completely over your power thirst and blind ideals, but as the time passes, you will see your mistakes," L says, playing with the collar of Light's shirt.

Light watches his actions with a dubious feeling somewhere in his guts. On the one hand, he's still angry with L's bluntness and denial of Light's theory, but on the other hand... He can't resist when L acts like this – being sweet and persistent at the same time. And L knows it damn well, and uses this power over Light that he has, whenever he wishes. Damn him.

"You should take a shower," L tells him, undoing the buttons of Light's shirt. "In your fit of anger you forgot about the personal hygiene."

"Alright," Light tells him, and catches L's wrists in time to stop him from taking the shirt off Light's shoulders.

"Raito-kun?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I join you?"

Light holds a long stare at L's innocent face. The detective blinks. Light shakes his head, sighs and nods. He can't say no to L. Damn him.

* * *

A/N: In the next chapter we'll be back to Wammy's. Thank you for reading.


	4. Guesses

**A/N: The rating has changed to M. Please, consider yourself warned.**

* * *

**Ch. 4 Guesses**

He sits on the floor in the relaxation room, twiddling a toy robot in his hand. The room is empty, and that's quite easy to explain – when he steps in the room full of kids, most children suddenly start remembering things they need to do as soon as possible. They leave in a hurry, just so they won't have to endure his presence.

Near watches the robot he toys with on the floor, manipulating it so that the robot makes steps and curt bows.

"First," Near announces, and puts the robot on the left side of himself, near the beginning of a long dominoes row that forms an intricate line.

He stares thoughtfully at the robot for a moment and then carefully stands up, starting to search around the room for something. When he comes back, he's holding another robot which he sets on the other end of the domino chain.

A long minute he spends in silence, looking at two robots on the different ends of the chain. Then he makes a short, fast move and topples over the first toy figure, setting off the chain reaction. He waits till the quarter of the chain lays overturned, and then flicks his finger against the second robot, toppling it over and launching reaction from the other end of the domino chain.

Dice fall fast, rushing to meet each other, and when the last two dice meet somewhere close to the middle of the dominoes row, they click and stay still. The chain reaction is over.

Near stares at the two dice, that stand among the fallen ones.

"Second," he says quietly, still not taking his eyes off the dominoes.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Mello frowns, shooting a displeased glance at Matt, who sits beside him on the bench.

Branches of tree rustle their leaves above the heads of the two boys. Warm summer gushes of wind blow above the grass on the sports ground, and ruffles their hair, gently brushing skin of their faces.

"Being a badass?" Matt shrugs, and reclines his back to rest it against the bench.

"Oh really? I can't see it anyway. Better busy yourself helping me with the case."

"There's not much I can do," Matt sighs. "Besides, nothing's been happening for the past week."

"Isn't that a bad sign? The killer's probably onto something big."

Few girls from Dar's group pass near them, chirping and laughing loudly. Both boys watch the girls, till they are far enough for Mello and Matt to speak again.

"I hear Dar is going to America next week. She won some contest they had in their group," Matt says absentmindedly, still following the girls with his eyes.

"Dumb contests for dumb bitches," Mello snarls and nudges his friend with his elbow. "Did you hear what they were talking about? Music and Neil. I honestly can't fathom what Roger was thinking about, when he took these chicks in Wammy's."

"Well, Neil is rather popular among girls. It's not their fault they like him."

"Their music taste is still awful. Besides, we should be thinking about the killer, god dammit. You're distracting me with these stupid conversations," Mello hides his face in his palms.

"Yeah. I don't like the song they were talking about either," Matt agrees, ignoring the second half of Mello's complaint. "But needless to say, the song is viral now."

"I don't care about songs. I want to make my investigation."

"Do you mean what I think you mean?" Matt stares at his friend's sullen face.

"How the hell should I know what you think about? But... we've got two weeks off ahead, right?" The glint in Mello's eyes bodes no good.

"It doesn't mean we can leave the orphanage."

"I don't care. I want to see the crime scenes."

"But, Mello... Shouldn't we wait for the killer's next move? What will the crime scenes give you? I'm sure there's already no clues left there."

"You can never be sure! And what if the witnesses do remember something, but don't want to tell the police? I need to check my guess, Matt. I will be damned if Near solves the case before me," there's a hint of desperation in his voice. "I'm sure he already knows something I don't even suspect about."

"I don't know, Mello... I think Near is just as stuck we are. I saw him playing in the relaxation room this afternoon. It didn't look like he was onto something. And, to be honest, your idea will probably bring us nothing but troubles."

"If you're scared to go with me – don't. I can do everything myself. But if I ever need your help..."

"Are you crazy? Of course, I'm going with you."

"Then let's make our move tonight. You can take care of the surveillance cameras, right?"

"Yep. But..."

"No, I'm not going to wait any longer. Listen, we'll follow the killer's route. First we'll make a visit to Stratford," Mello says resolutely, and then stands up, gesturing for Matt to follow.

"Why? Won't it be more convenient for us to check our town first?"

"No. When they find out about our absence, they'll surely search through the town. We can't afford wasting time here."

"Alright. Whatever you say," Matt mutters, trying to keep up with the fast pace of his friend.

If it depended on him, he'd check Winchester in the first place. Because their town was the last in the list of the murders, and hence there are more chances for them to find something here. But... if Mello wants to follow the route, so be it. Matt's probably wrong anyway.

* * *

The night is too dark. Really, where are all the stars that should be covering the sky? And the moon, that decided to hide behind the gloomy clouds, doesn't save the situation.

Mello stands under the tall metal fence, looking upwards and watching his friend's attempts to climb over it. Matt takes too much time.

"Hurry," Mello whispers loud enough for Matt to hear and mutter his response.

"It's too dark, I can't see shit. Aw!" he suddenly squeals.

"What? Are you okay?"

"I think I've almost got castrated by the fence."

"Ha-ha, very funny. You know what? Throw your bag over to me, you can barely move with it."

"No. Wait a bit more, I'm almost here."

With these words, Matt hops off the fence and lands right beside Mello. The blond boy rolls his eyes and turns around, hastily walking towards the road that leads to the town.

It takes them about twenty minutes to get to the town, and fifteen minutes more to reach the train station.

"Next train arrives only at five in the morning," Matt notices, examining train schedule on the wall beside ticket office.

"That's okay, we'll wait here," Mello sighs, flopping his bag on a nearby bench. "I hope we won't fall asleep."

Matt scratches the back of his head and gingerly lays his bag beside Mello's on the bench, before taking a sit there as well.

"What's there that you fuss over it so much?" Mello wonders, poking the bag.

"My laptop," comes the answer, and Mello shakes his head in a disapproving manner, watching his friend fish out the pack of cigarettes.

"Hey, Matt..."

"Hm?" the boy glances at Mello, releasing a curly stream of smoke out of his mouth.

"I've been thinking about it for the past week, I mean, the killer and his trick. How do you think he makes it?"

"I dunno... Maybe he casts some kind of a mirror shield aura spell to make people think they see themselves," the redhead shrugs.

"You've been playing too much computer games. There are no mirror spells in real life," Mello grits his teeth. "But... Ugh. It sounds stupid, but the only thing that comes to my mind when I think about the killer's means, is the hypnosis."

"Hypnosis?"

"Yeah. Think about it. Witnesses claim their memories about the moment killer appeared before them, are as in fog. They can't remember anything that happened, right? But they clearly recall killer's face – the same face, that the victim had. There is no other explanation, beside hypnosis."

"Shouldn't the hypnosis take time?" Matt rises his eyebrow. "I hear that the hypnotist has to make those around him feel relaxed and at ease in order to take over their minds. I doubt the killer had so much time at his hands."

"Why? He most probably did it for the sake of killing, that means he could afford himself to spend time for the victim and people surrounding them. C'mon, Matt, hypnosis is the explanation."

"Alright, even if we consider your theory true, what did killer want to say with all this? He murdered five people, left a sign, and then disappeared."

"I'm telling you, the murders here are just the beginning. But you know what really bothers me? The fact that you are not dead," Mello says darkly.

"Huh?" Matt almost chokes on the smoke, gaping at his friend.

"The day you went to town, you accidentally came face to face with the killer. And even though he saw you, and you saw him, he didn't kill you. Why? I've been thinking about it since the day you told me. And if I assume that the killer does use the hypnosis as the trick, everything starts to make sense. Let's suppose the killer to be some kind of a powerful hypnotist. Then it's not a surprise that he could affect your mind. You stood in trance there, didn't you? But," Mello raises his index finger. "his powers didn't blow your mind off completely. You were not fully hypnotized."

"You want to say, that's the reason he didn't kill me?"

"Why, yes, dumbass! He obviously wants for each of his victim to be under his total control," Mello mumbles. "But why didn't his hypnosis work on you?"

"I think I know," Matt says slowly, and then drags his goggles down his forehead to his eyes. "This is the reason. He couldn't see my eyes clearly."

"See? Now it's all clear!"

"Well, yeah... The only thing that's left for us to do, is to catch him," the red haired boy smiles bitterly.

"Worry not. We'll bring the motherfucker to justice," Mello says with certainty.

Matt looks his friend and then smiles once again, this time with more mirth.

* * *

His steps are silent upon the soft carpet of the hallway. Rare orphans come to this section of the Wammy's House, that's why it's so unusually quiet here, in the far east wing of the establishment.

Near sneaks his way down the corridor of the personnel annex. The walls around him seem older than those in children's wing, probably just because Roger isn't willing to make any tedious cosmetic alterations.

Rather soon Near faces a door that has a small doorplate which reads 'Laundry'. He gingerly pushes the door open and makes a step on the cold tiles.

There he stands. His back turned to Near, while he mumbles some kind of a melody under his nose. Red curly hair that lay unkempt around the bald spot on his head, and the fat on his sides make him look old and repelling.

The noise of the washing machines has made it impossible to hear the tiny creak that the door made upon opening, and Near uses his chance to sneak up to the man unnoticed.

"I'm sorry to distract you," he says in a low voice, his fingers curl the strand of his hair. "But I need to speak to you."

The man flinches with a start and turns. For a second he looks absently before himself before casting his gaze lower and noticing a short, slim, white-haired boy.

They stare at each other for about a minute, and then man lets out a shaky breath and hurriedly heads for the exit. Near notices a slight limp in his walk. There's no mistake. It's him.

"You've got nothing to fear," he says, following man's steps. "As I said, I merely wish to speak with you... Pumpkin."

* * *

Pumpkin, or Palmer Matthews, never expected someone to remind him about the dark days of his childhood. At least not after the two decades. Those Wammy kids have always scared him, since the first day and up till now. There's something wrong about the orphans here, they are cruel. Cruel, heartless and self-seeking. Roger may blab about the new rules he and Wammy established after the Incident, but Palmer knows it's still the same here. It's meant to be the same.

And the white haired boy that stands now in the corridor with him, looking around with apathetic face, is one of the anomalous kids of Wammy's. Everything about him screams of Pumpkin's past: his unruly hair, manners and most of all – his eyes, that look at Palmer with bored interest of a scientist that examines the entrails of a frog.

He's not... he's not an experiment, not a toy, god dammit. Palmer Matthews is a world renowned physicist, he even received a Nobel Prize! Does this kid know about it? Does he know about the money Palmer got for his discovery?

He stops himself short upon remembering that he himself gave all the money to Roger as a pay for staying in Wammy's. Now he only receives a monthly fee for washing after the kids. But that's okay... Pumpkin never wished for a grand life. He merely wanted to live in peace and calm, and busy himself with formulas and little discoveries. And now he has it... A small cozy room, in which he sleeps and deepens his knowledge of physics.

"What do you want?" he asks the boy, watching the way he toys with his hair.

The boy stays silent for a moment and then smiles, making Pumpkin shudder with something akin to fear.

"I want to hear your story, mr. Matthews."

"My story?" Pumpkin asks and drags a scruffy handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe away some of the sweat on his forehead.

"Yes, you heard me right."

"Why do you care, boy? It happened long time ago, there's nothing of interest for you. Besides, I have no idea what exactly you want to know about," he grumbles.

"Well, mr. Matthews, do you really believe there's no archive chronicles left in Wammy's?" Near smiles at him. "I can tell some facts about you, I learned from the old records. Palmer Matthews, taken from the orphan asylum in York at the age of six. IQ 143, excellent school recordings. Quiet and timid, has tendency for hysterics. Assigned in the 2-1 group. Given alias – Pumpkin. At the age of nine fell from the stair and fractured his leg; the incident led to him limping slightly."

Near stares at him, smile long since faded from his face.

"Now, mr. Matthews, I couldn't find any records concerning two other children that were in your group. It's understandable that one of the record had been erased due to the certain circumstances, but what happened to the other? Who was amongst those children you grew up with?"

Neat stares at the man. Pumpkin is the person that can shine some light on the case and prove Near's guesses true or false. And judging by Pumpkin's initial reaction, Near's most probably right.

"I don't understand what you are talking about," Pumpkin finally says after a long minute, and turns his back to Near, to open the door of his room. "Excuse me."

With these words, Palmer shuts the door right in front of Near's face, leaving him to stand staring at the polished wood of the door.

* * *

_It's been three days since they found Bear laying on the dusty ground in the pool of his own blood. Thir acted as a weakling, but that was expected. After he witnessed Beyond killing the man, he bolted to Wammy, to tell about the murder. Luckily for B, it took too much time for Thir to find the founder of the orphanage. So, by the time Thir was rambling to the man, B was standing two steps away from him. He was smirking inwardly, blessing his halloween costume that included gloves. They won't find his fingerprints on the knife. But Thir... oh, boy, Thir was an idiot. He didn't wear the gloves, probably just because he never thought of leaving the knife in Bear's body. B wanted to burst with laugh, having the chain of the forthcoming events already build up in his mind. _

_ Wammy didn't believe Thir. Of course he didn't, children here have vivid and at times frightening imagination. And Thir merely got scared by the decoration or something. But before he had a chance to send Thir away, L appeared at his side. Face pale as the wall and lips trembling. _

_ It was the first time B felt something like this. Forceful, colorful emotions that made his heart beat at a twice fast pace. L had seen Bear's corpse. _

_ The following days were pure bliss. Wammy organized the investigation, though everything was clear without the interference of the police. Officers talked to every boy in their group. They tried to mask the interrogation under the friendly talk. Did they think the children were stupid enough to believe that after the kill, a bunch of adults would suddenly obtain interest in them? _

_ Pi couldn't handle the pressure. He was the first to give up and tell about their plan to the police. He said it was Thir, who had arranged everything, and certainly it was Thir, who killed Bear. 'Went too far', as Pi said. _

_ Yo and Zee didn't think long and betrayed Thir in a heartbeat. They had already known about Pi's avowal. _

_The most funny thing is that Pi, Yo and Zee actually believe they're telling the truth. Indeed, according to their plan it was Thir, who was supposed to stab Bear, while B was there to merely lure the man into trap. No one knows the truth. _

_ B had also been questioned, but he did the same thing as everyone – blamed everything on Thir. B know that even if Wammy suspects him, B's still safe. He is the one, who should replace L one day, after all. It's always been either him or A. But now it's just him. Because they found A's body in the bathroom the day after Bear's murder. He sat on the floor near the bathtub, hand thrown over the tub's brim and immersed into the water. A cut himself, slit the skin on his arm lengthwise, from the wrist and up to his elbow. It's good that A can't tell anything now._

_ Thir was taken into a custody yesterday. He yelled of his innocence as the policemen snapped the handcuffs around his wrists. And today Pi and the twins are getting expelled. Wammy decided to send them into some other orphanage, probably just to show other children what will happen to those, who do bad things. Now there are no Bulls in Wammy's anymore. Only him and Pumpkin are left of the family. Children try to avoid him now, even more than they've ever done. They can't understand the reason he was left in Wammy's. They don't like him. B heard girls whispering to each other that they wanted Pi to stay instead of B. _

_ Wammy took L to Bear's funeral. L was among that small group of children that wanted to say their goodbye. B hasn't seen L since the day L came back from the cemetery, a heavy coat on his shoulders. It was raining that day. Rain fell down so profusely, that B could barely see something from his spot behind the window. But he did notice a big, colorful lollipop that L had sticking out of the pocket of his coat. Must have been the same candy that Bear had given him once._

_ Bear... The man is dead, but still stays in L's life. How is it possible? L should have shrugged and go on, not spending his time mourning over a dead person. But isn't this what B wanted? L is broken now, he's become an empty shell. But the sight is not pretty. More precisely, he doesn't see L anymore. L stays locked in his room, he doesn't talk and spends the days in front of the computer which Wammy bought him in form of a consolation present. No one here has such privileges as L. _

_ Perhaps Thir was right in his hatred. It's not like no one can replace L. Good thing that Wammy at least thought of finding a backup. And while L rots in his grief, B can prove that he is far more worth of the attention._

* * *

The flashy headlines of news reflect in Light's eyes. Apparently, some well-known radio host killed her colleague in a fit of inexplicable rage. Light sighs. What kind of new is that? Hundreds of people kill each other every day. It doesn't mean that some famous girl should gain more attention just because of her fame. He won't be surprised to learn that this radio host will turn out being diagnosed with manic depression and get sentenced to two years of custodial restraint due to mitigating circumstances. That's how 'justice' works.

"Something bothers you?" L asks him, not taking his eyes off the computer screen.

"Is it possible for us to go outside? We haven't been leaving this place for a week," Light sighs, and swivels his chair to face the detective. "I'm suffocating here."

"You can go out," L tells him softly. "You know it's not necessary for you to stay by my side all the time."

"I will get bored rather soon, if I'll go for a walk alone."

Finally L tears his eyes off the computer to glance at Light.

"Alright. Give me fifteen minutes," he says, returning to his work on the computer. "You can wait for me outside, if you wish."

The day is pretty to say the least. It's that kind of rare summer days when heat is not oppressing and sun doesn't feel too hot. It's probably going to rain soon, actually. Judging by the gathering of heavy gray overcast on the west side of the sky and the gushes of wind that urge clouds to fly faster right into this part of the city, the downpour will start in about fifteen minutes.

Rare trees stand tall and dry, lining up both sides of the road. Light closes his eyes inhaling the scent of forthcoming rain storm. Fresh and cool.

He stands near the front doors of the building they currently live in. Since L returned to his work as the detective, they can't afford staying at one place for too long. And maybe that's for the best. With the constant process of moving, there are less chances that Light will grow bored. But even if he will, there's little he can do in order to dispel the boredom. And it's not surprising or strange that sometimes... sometimes he wishes to go back to his world. Or at least to take a peek on what's going on there. To know what's happened after his death.

Light wonders if the task force learned who was Kira all that time. They probably did. Even if Misa kept on doing his job, it shouldn't had taken them too much time to figure things out. And what happened to Misa when she found his body? And what was Ryuk's reaction? Ah... memory is a strange thing indeed. No matter what terrible things happened in the past, one will think of them with a smile. Because that's all what human is about. All what life's about. Memories.

There's a guess in Light's mind when he thinks of the reason his memories of the death note stayed with him. In this world there are no shinigami, and that means his current body never even touched the death note. His memory, probably, isn't the part of the physical body, but the part of his soul or his mind. And his mind now reigns inside of the body of his twin, who had no slightest idea of what was going on with another Light in another world.

He smirks. No, scratch that. During the last year his twin was alive, he must have known very well what was happening with the real Light.

The door behind his back opens and L pokes out his head, looking at Light with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry I made you wait," he says and only then walks out of the building, coming up to Light. "Shall we go?"

Light smiles at him and nods, taking L by the hand before walking into direction of the street.

It's quiet in a small coffee shop. The occasional dry coughs and rustle of paper in the hands of an old man sitting three tables away from them, break the silence. Somewhere out on the street people people talk, laugh and argue, and muffled music is being heard. Light closes his eyes, listening to the sounds around him. The spoon in L's fingers makes quiet ringing upon touching a glass sundae dish; the sound oddly mixes with the rustling leaves of trees outside. Light reopens his eyelids a little, watching L. He seems completely absorbed in his dessert, not taking his fixed gaze off it.

Right, the ice cream. Six scoops: two vanilla with caramel, two strawberry, and two pistachio. Perhaps, L loves pistachio the most, for at this point only greenish, smeared on the glass stains are left. Light smiles, bringing a cup of hot coffee to his lips. They don't break the silence with talks. For some reason, when it comes to the two of them, the words ruin it all. There are so many thoughts and phrases that Light wants to tell L, but can't find a reason for that. He thinks that he lives through, perhaps, the best moments in his life, sitting with L in this godforsaken bistro. Thinks, that L's acting like a child, eating the most tasty thing first and leaving the less loved until later. Thinks, that he even likes it. Likes to look at L and see his rare smile. Likes, when during working hours L turns to him and tilts his head to the side, looking Light into the eyes, fingers barely touching his arms. He likes L's quiet low voice. Likes to be near him, to fall asleep and wake up hearing L's even breath. Even likes the stupid way L walks, and every of his quirks.

For some reason Light feels stinging in his eyes. L glances up at him and smiles curtly. But will he smile, if Light tells all the things that crossed his mind while he was looking at L? Words are meaningless. Words spoil everything. Words will never be able to communicate what Light really feels. Because the feeling is strange. As though the world has suddenly become tiny, leaving the room for only two of them, while at the same time it's stretched immensely and flashed with new colors. And Light is afraid of these new experiences that has blossomed within him without permission and indented into his very being so deeply, that he nearly teared up while watching L eat his damn ice cream. Oh God, just what is wrong with him? Why does he cherish L's smiles so much, why does he feel so happy to see the twinkles in L's eyes? Why does he always need the physical contact with L, whether the contact comes in form of bawdy tweaks or innocently entwined fingers? And when L throws cold words at him, he can not deny the bitter aftertaste and poisonous pain that they leave. And, maybe, it's time to stop lying to himself, shielding behind the 'I like' words. Because, judging by what's going on with his thoughts and his behavior, he's head over heels in love.

"You look as if you are deep in thought," L observes, looking at him with slightly concerned frown.

"I love you," Light forces out of his throat. He hasn't yet said these words to L a single time. He just couldn't make himself utter them and be sure he meant what he said. While L has never bothered with words of love, knowing and being sure about the way they feel for each other.

"That's quite unexpected," he smirks. "Judging by the look on your face, you were thinking about some world problems."

Light rolls his eyes, and L smiles, bending his head down so Light won't notice his stretched lips.

On their way home it starts raining. The rain falls heavily, pouring down the streets, smashing droplets against the ground, cars, umbrellas and windows. The pavement is wet, and puddles splash with dirty water under their steps.

Light walks with hurried long strides before him, tugging L by the hand. Light hates rain. And there's really nothing to love about the rain itself: hair gets soaking wet and heavy, clothes cling to body in a nasty manner, hands and face soon get cold with the wind that blows on damp skin, cooling down the rain droplets even more. Nothing to love about it at all. But still...

He looks at Light's back that's turned into a white blur before his eyes. His shoulders are broad and proud. Light's now in that age, when the difference between a boy and a young man becomes obvious. When the serious air that once looked misplaced around the boy, suddenly becomes fitting and filled with respect for the now-man. This age is funny in some way. Light still has some of his boyish thoughts and words, still acts on impulse, but he doesn't do it as often as he used to. When they go out, L notices Light take appraising glances at pretty girls, mostly blondes with nice figures and cute smiles. Sometimes L feels sad and a tad depressed when he looks at Light. Sometimes L feels old when around him. It's hard not to feel down or aged while being beside someone who's almost sparkling with perfection and brilliance. And ridiculous thing is that Light is also the one, who makes him smile and feel safe. What a contradiction...

When they finally get back home, Light hurries into the bathroom. It must be disgusting for him to wear wet clothes. L sighs quietly, kicking his snickers off his feet and into the corner. He rummages through the cupboard, searching for a towel and bathrobe. He is wet to the skin, and water drips down on the floor, soon creating a puddle under his feet.

Five minutes later Light emerges from the bathroom, towel hangs loosely around his hips. L stares at him, noticing the droplets of water that drip from Light's hair onto his shoulders, down his chest and stomach, disappearing just below the rim of the towel. He's suddenly overwhelmed with desire to touch the silky skin and feel strong muscles that move beneath it. But Light doesn't even look at him, busy drying his head with the towel and turning his steps towards the bedroom. L sighs once again and makes his way into the shower.

When he reopens the door of the bathroom, there are hot clouds of steam behind his back. His hair's damp, and a loose robe's wrapped around his body. Quietly, L steps into the room he knows Light should be in. And, indeed, there he lays on the sheets, almost naked, with just sleeping pants hiding his legs. L steps closer to the bed, looking Light into the eyes, and strips off the heavy robe, offering himself.

And then he lays beside Light, the latter strokes his chest, smoothly contouring puckered nipples, kisses his neck and his jawline, and then, with a swift motion, Light presses down L's body under his own. And L... he feels strangely gleeful, leaning into Light's somewhat rough caresses and trying to meet his tenderness with a mutual affection.

They spend time sharing long kisses; one moment they do it passionately, another - slowly and lingeringly, almost being lazy in the movements of their lips.

L feels as if he loves everything in Light: the way his eyes burn, the way he bites his lips and runs his hands over L's body. L kisses the angular curve of Light's jaw, draws his tongue down the line of his long neck, goes further down, caressing his clavicles and nuzzling his chest. Light scoops him in his arms and kisses him once again, completely self-forgetful. And then come thousand more tender touches that eventually force his body to fill up with desire.

"I want to violate you," Light whispers huskily in his ear, "the most sensual way possible."

L spreads his legs shamelessly, arching his body to grind himself against Light, and to feel how delightfully hard he is, how big is his desire. Light looks him in the eyes, smile tugs the corners of his reddened, kiss-bruised lips as he drags his fingers behind L's back, in between his legs, making L gasp and close his eyes.

It's a shame... Each and every time they do it, it's a shame and a sin that they commit together, that makes it harder for L to open up to Light. The way Light does it - making L suck at his fingers and then spreading his legs apart even further, starting to prepare L for himself – is a wicked thrill. Light's eyes are always a bit defocused while he does it, gaze gives away his hunger. His touches are sweet and audacious, and they make L arch his back once again, make him clutch at the sheets and pillows, bite his lower lip in hope to suppress the moans. But all of his actions go down the drain as he hears the quiet 'clack' that a lid of the bottle of lube makes upon opening, and after a few moments feels Light's slick flesh nudge against him.

L nods and gasps immediately, feeling the length of Light's desire that slides into him slowly, expanding the tight walls and gliding against that spot inside of his body that's now swollen with arousal. He moans and shuts his eyes tightly, while Light seems to be getting drunk of all this. He kisses L's bony shoulders, strokes his sides and hips, bites his neck... but stays motionless. He likes to tease L like this. But at some point Light loses control and makes a fast, spasmodic thrust, that makes L see white spots before his eyes and hold his breath for a second.

"Raito..." he whispers and pushes himself forward, so that he can press against Light completely.

It's then that Light finally starts to move, thrusts fast and sweeping as he drives into the moist, warm inside, screwing up his eyes with pleasure that burns in the lower part of his belly and makes blood boil in veins. L likes this moment. His mind clears of all thoughts, he feels no shame, no worry, but the need to howl on one note, having his head thrown back so that Light can see his pointed Adam's apple that lures to draw the tongue along its length. And, eventually, Light does that thing exactly, opening his eyes to look at L, while pushing harshly inside.

L's fingernails scratch at his back and he cries out, as the warm liquid spurts on their stomachs. Light doesn't last much longer after this, and each of his final movements cause L to shudder with his whole body and groan quietly.

Much later they lay on the bed, upon sweat-soaked sheets, still holding each other in the embrace, fingers entwined and breath even.

"How are you not afraid..?" Light asks quietly, looking into the distance. "You know that I'm not the same person whom you loved, but still you act all the same around me..."

"Raito-kun asks strange questions... It's hard to make myself believe that you are not the one I used to know, when I can see that very person in front of me everyday. You might not believe it, but there's a little difference between you then and you now."

"Still..."

"You have no reasons to worry, trust me," L tells him, yawning and closing his eyes.

"Right," Light whispers, still staring off into nothingness.

"Raito..."

"Hm?"

"I made a little present for you. It lays in the first drawer of your desk."

"Ah... I saw it. Thank you, but I honestly doubt I'll ever need it."

"I know. I just wanted you to have it anyway."

Light casts a glances at L who's already falling asleep. The present he found this morning inside of his desk, was a gun and a license for it. L probably thought he'd like it. Light weighted the rather heavy weapon in his palm and put it back into the drawer. Best to leave it as a simple decoration.

The rain has ended long ago, and he can see the outskirt of the city behind the window. He gazes at it, at the shiny spots and flickers of light far away, until his eyes close and he falls into Morpheus welcoming arms.

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	5. Time

**Ch. 5 Time**

The rhythmic clickety-clack and slightly rocking motions that train makes, leave them drowsy. It's late evening and Matt stares into the window of their car, watching the rapidly passing by power lines behind it, while Mello almost falls asleep, having his head pressed against Matt's shoulder. It's been a week since they started their journey. They visited towns, and it was relatively easy for them to find the crime scenes, and of course not even once did they find any clues there. But they searched the places through and through, and Matt hacked police files, but always ended up gaining nothing. Police was just as confused, as they were.

And witnesses... oh, god, Mello was furious with them. An old lady that was among those who saw the murder, looked at them like at some kind of dangerous criminals and shut the door of her house right before their noses. And every other witness followed the old lady's example. Matt knows it is hopeless for them to keep trying to find some evidences or clues in towns, but Mello wants to be sure.

And that's why they are heading to Oxford this night. They'll have to find a place to spend the night, and in the morning it will all start again. Mello will drag them to the crime scene, then he will look at the surroundings as though they somehow helped the murderer with the disguise, and after that they will try to catch the witnesses.

"Matt..." Mello says quietly, poking his side.

"Yeah?"

"Even if we won't find anything, it was great to just be away from the orphanage."

"Don't say such things. I'm sure you'll make a big discovery that will take us far ahead of Near," Matt smiles, trying to cheer up Mello.

"No. I'm not talking about that... I mean... I like to spend time with you like this."

"Uh... Thank you. I like you too," Matt says, a bit confused. And for some reason a warm flush washes over his cheeks.

Mello laughs quietly and pokes him in the side again, this time a bit harder.

"I never said I liked you, dumbass."

"Uhh..."

God damn it. Now he can't even speak properly, and utters only some dumb interjections.

"But I do like you," Mello continues. "Even if I never said it."

"Uh."

Mello chuckles once again, and Matt sighs, suddenly consumed with strong desire to smoke. Mello likes messing around. Better think about the case...

They will travel around the town for a couple of days more, and Matt just knows they will find nothing and will return to Wammy's with empty hands. How is it possible to catch such a killer?.. Does Near know it? And has Near made some progress in his investigation?

Matt tries to think the way Near would follow in his reasonings. And Near, probably, gave more interpretations for the first lead they found. 'One'. One... What kind of other meaning can 'one' possibly have? Maybe it's not the 'one' but the 'first'? First what? Mello didn't think everything through, immediately assuming that it was killer's first move. But what if 'first' in reality has a very different meaning? If so, the pattern that the killer made on the map should serve as the message for the one, who investigates the case. But neither Matt or Mello, nor Near, nor the police can understand this message. Probably just because it wasn't meant for them. But for whom? Who else would take interest in chain of the mysterious murders? Could it be...? No way.

Matt blinks, eyes wide when the realization hits him. Of course it's just his guesses, but can it be that the killer tries to attract the attention of not other than L? But why?

He still thinks over his new theory when the train arrives at the station. He and Mello get off the train and start walking along the road, Matt telling his friend about the guess that came to his mind mere minutes ago.

"That's an interesting theory," Mello quirks his eyebrow when Matt ends his story. "But why do you think that's L whose attention the killer tries to gain?"

"Well... L likes such cases, doesn't he? I mean, he always makes an investigation only when he has some personal interest in the case. Plus the murders happened here, in England, and even in Winchester!"

"And so what? Nobody knows that L was raised here," Mello says, readjusting the bag on his shoulder. "If follow your logic, it seems that the killer knew about L's past. Do you think it's possible?"

"Err... You can never tell," Matt shrugs. "Besides, I was merely thinking the way I thought Near would think."

"Huh?" Mello stops dead in his tracks. "Wait, you mean you started thinking like Cotton Head, made a 'genius' guess and then assumed it to be true?"

"But why not, Mello? You yourself said that Near probably knows something that you don't. Maybe that's what he knows!" Matt says, standing a step away from Mello.

"Really, why the fuck not? It's just fine, never mind the fact that I'm having _my own_ investigation, and obviously it should be different from Near's!" Mello raises his voice.

"What are you saying?! If the guess is right, both you and Near should think the same way!"

"I don't fucking care! If you think that your guess is right, go to Near and tell him about it! Maybe you should just join him!"

"Oh, goooosh," Matt almost whines. "You're furious just because I said that I made my guess using the way Near usually thinks! You were okay with my reasoning before I mentioned Near."

But Mello doesn't even listen, turning his back at him and striding away.

"Where are you going? Wait!" Matt exclaims, running after his friend.

"Why should I wait? You can go home, Matt," Mello tells him calmly, not slowing down his pace. "You were scared to investigate from the beginning. Go home."

"I won't. You don't really think I'll leave, do you?"

"Oh, but you can never tell," Mello mimics, turning his head to glare at Matt.

"Listen, I'm sorry. Forget about my guess and let's follow your lead."

"I'm going to do just that. And you can fuck off back to the orphanage."

Matt huffs and then stops at the middle of the pavement they walk upon. It's already night, so there's nobody around them, just few bats fly in circles above their heads and some stray dog runs past the two boys.

"You know what? Fine! I'm tired of you being unreasonable!" he says angrily. "I'm going back, since I know there's nothing here for us to find anyway!"

"Fuck you!" Mello yells, and then raises his hand up and waves it, having his middle finger sticked out.

"Jesus..." Matt mutters and turns his back to Mello as well, starting to walk in the opposite direction.

* * *

It's been a week since Near caught Pumpkin in his clutches. And Pumpkin tried to protest, tried to send the boy away, but Near was persistent. And... for some reason Pumpkin likes the attention that boy gives him. The boy seems to have good intentions, so why not share information with him?

So today Pumpkin leads Near to the old section in archives. The room is dusty and smells of half-rotten paper and mustiness. Pumpkin says he can't tell the story better than the archives, but... the truth is, Near already checked the old records and couldn't point his finger at the file which contained information about the person who became the murderer Near now hunts down.

Together with Pumpkin, they rummage through the shelves, searching for some old personal files. Pumpkin throws worried glances at Near who looks like he honestly doesn't give a damn about what's happening around him or about the secrets that Pumpkin surely hides.

"Don't think I have nothing to tell you about this," Palmer suddenly says, a hurt look in his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, don't think I've got nothing to tell you about this," Pumpkin repeats. "You do realize that I was a part of the terrible events that happened twenty years ago, don't you?"

Near feels the urge to laugh, looking at Pumpkin's overdramatic expression on the round childish face. Pumpkin's still miserable and pitiful. It's degrading to be as contrite as him.

"That's the reason I came to you," Near says quietly, sliding his finger down the back of some old folder.

"I can be much of a help, you know."

"Good."

Pumpkin takes his words as offense.

"You could at least show some gratitude," man huffs. "If not for me, you'd be at loss."

"It's a shock," Near explains. "I'm just shocked with my luck. I can't find the words to express all the gratitude I feel for you."

Let the fool believe. But Pumpkin is not a fool, he's just a man who likes being praised. And the praise works, judging by Pumpkin's reddened cheeks and secretively smug smile.

"Are you sure you can find any recordings at all?" Near asks in his monotone.

"It should be here. They wouldn't destroy the personal file."

Fifteen minutes later Pumpkin drags out a folder with no name or photo on it. He almost jumps with excitement and turns to Near with a bright smile on his face.

"Here it is! I'm sure this is the record, you were looking for. No wonder you couldn't find it, I knew it should have been hidden well," he says darkly, obviously trying to appear sinister. "Let us go to my room. I'll tell you everything..."

Pumpkin's room is very small, almost the size of a closet, and filled with motley furniture, filings of old magazines and clocks. Clocks take all the walls space by the way, so at the first glance Near confuses them with some kind of badges. When he looks closer, he realizes his mistakes. They are indeed clocks, different sorts of them – wristwatches, wall clocks and even alarm clocks.

Strange room. Even Near freezes, looking at the clock faces that surround him. He notices that none of the clocks appear to be working – they all show different time and on most of them there are no hands whatsoever.

And Pumpkin stands beside him, reveling in his reaction.

"Impressive, isn't it? I've been collecting them for fifteen years. And what you see here is just a small part of my collection. I've got two more cram-full boxes under my bed."

Pumpkin lets out a short guffaw and tramps into the depths of his room. He bends and searches for something in the dark corner, and Near suddenly feels aghast at the thought he'll be presented with the full collection of clocks. But Pumpkin merely turns on the nightlight.

"I once noticed that clocks tend to break here, in Wammy's, very fast," he says, lowering himself on the bed and sighing. "That's what nudged me into collecting clocks. I thought it was some kind of an anomalous magnetic field that affected the clocks mechanisms, but... Well, people are scared of my clocks for some reason. Some say they make them feel uneasy."

"I see. They do hurt eyes a bit," Near agrees. "Too sparkling."

"I'm used to them."

Pumpkin shrugs and pushes the nearby stool to the white-haired boy with his leg, gesturing for him to sit down.

And Near suddenly feels curious about Pumpkin, so he asks his question as soon as he makes himself comfortable on the stool.

"Mr. Matthews, I can't help but feel intrigued. What are you doing here?"

"I do my work," Pumpkin looks at him, surprised. "I wash children's clothes and make my researches."

"Why? You could live on your own, free from mundane duties."

"I don't really know... I suppose I'm bound to this place. I tried to live somewhere else, but eventually came back here."

Pumpkin looks in the distance. His dreamy, watery-green eyes reflect the fantasies he once had. But he braces himself soon enough and says in a busy tone:

"Enough of idle talk. Ask me your questions."

"Let me study the file first," Near asks softly, holding out his hand.

His eyes skim across the lines, reading the information: a dash instead of name, place and date of birth unknown. Relatives – yes. Information of the relatives – dash. Below there's a list of other facts about the child: IQ level, personal characteristic, inclinations and talents. After a minute, Near frown and sets the folder aside.

"There is no information I need here. What is the name of this person?"

"I don't know," Pumpkin shrugs and pushes his hand under the pillow on his bed. When he retrieves it, there's a bottle of cheap alcohol that he holds in his hand.

"Mr. Matthews, when I asked you about the mysterious person with whom you had grown up, you told me that you knew something about him."

"I merely know what's written in the personal file and some facts from his past," Pumpkin opens the bottle and makes a huge gulp.

"Then tell me, please. Everything you can remember."

"Uh... I was six when I got here. The Wammy's House you know now, is not in the least same as it was before. Back then Wammy didn't care about our background, our forefathers and predispositions, he was just glad to find children whose IQ was above 140. So of course the company that he gathered was outstanding and... dangerous in someway. We formed our own little families, and the most brilliant of us became the leaders, the face of the whole family. I wasn't lucky to find myself in the Bulls family... We all were slightly not of this world, but amongst us there were truly insane individuals. Like that person you want to know about. We didn't know his name, just like we didn't know the names of anyone in Wammy's. But the leader of our family gave him alias – Rue. And that's what we called him... though I know he frequently addressed himself as B," Pumpkin stops to snort and take one more gulp of his drink, and then continues. "Anyway, that B was a quiet kid. Mild and reserved, very serious for a boy of his age. His school results were second to best, and to tell the truth, there were no visible reasons not to like him – he was humble. But don't mistake him for your usual loser, he, so to say, definitely knew on which side his bread was buttered. Back then no one expected him to do something terrible, he was some kind of a role-model. I was eight when the terrible thing happened... I don't know who was at fault, but I suspect it was B who eventually killed him."

"Whom?" Near asks, slightly confused with Pumpkin's disjointed story.

"Bear! Oh Jesus, they killed Bear!"

"Bear... as an animal, or was it a person?"[*]

"It was a person," Pumpkin shoots a glare at him, sucking at the bottle. "A nice person. I still remember him, he was kind..."

"Why did they kill Bear?"

"Rue planned it. He wanted to kill Bear and make L miserable, for whatever purpose he had in his mind. I think he was simply jealous of L, because L was the only one who bested Rue," Pumpkin mutters darkly. "I didn't know about the kill, I was at the infirmary at that time. But after that incident our family ceased its existence. Leader was accused in murder, almost all of us were expelled, and only me and Rue stayed."

"Why did Rue stay?"

"Because he was meant to be L's backup," Pumpkin throws up his pudgy hands. "Or something like that. I am not sure... But later, when I was thirteen, another incident happened."

"What kind of incident?"

"Another murder. That time it was for certain that it was Rue, who killed the boy. Or at least, that's what Wammy said, seeing that Rue disappeared from the orphanage and never came back again. He's probably either dead or in jail now."

"Whom did he kill?"

"Some boy... What was his name... let me jog my memory... Kyle. Yes, his name was Kyle, may he rest in peace," Pumpkin hems and crosses himself.

"I see..." Near mutters.

"Do you want to know more?" Pumpkin giggles and lets out a hiccup. "Once, when I was already a grown up, I overheard a conversation between Wammy and L. They were talking about Rue, and I found it strange – ten years had passed since I last heard of him, why dig up the past? But! They were talking about Rue's parents... It appeared that Wammy did know something about him. A sad story."

Pumpkin nods to himself and sighs. Judging by the haze in his eyes, he's already drunk. Near watches the man for a minute before saying:

"So? What the sad story was?"

"Oh... His mother committed a suicide at the age of nineteen. Whether he had a father or not, is unclear – his identity was never established. Grandparents handed the care of him to the orphanage while the mother was still alive, practically they took him to the orphan asylum the day he was born. A sad story, indeed."

Pumpkin's voice is sleepy, and by the end of his story, he falls onto his bed heavily and starts snoring.

Near quietly stands up from his spot on the stool, and exits Palmer Matthews' room. So, that's how things are. His guess proved to be right, there indeed was someone, who knew L in the past and held some kind of grudge against him. More so, that certain someone was meant to become the new L, but left the orphanage after killing an innocent person. And, probably, he did it just to show everyone that he was never meant to be the 'backup'. But... can that possibly mean, that it was just him, who left the sign '1' on the map of England? Can it be, that he still wants to take a revenge and show L, that he's better? Because '1' should be read as 'first'. First is the winner.

* * *

"My goodness..." he whispers, hefting himself from his chair, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Hello," the man tells him, waving with his hand lazily. He then shuffles to the armchair that stands before the desk and climbs on it with his legs, folding them so that they press against his chest.

Rogers watches the man, still not over his shock.

"L," he finally says, clearing his throat and sits back down on his chair. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Yes. I'm aware of this, Roger."

"Quillish didn't warn me about your arrival either."

"He doesn't know," L tells him and tilts his head to the side, watching Roger. "And he doesn't need to know."

"Yes... Of course," he nods his head, and readjusts his glasses nervously. "Why are you here?"

L sits in front of him, looking at the window behind his back, thumb pressed to his lip. He appears not to be listening to what Roger says.

"Hm?" L asks, taking his eyes off the window to gaze at him. "Do I need a reason to visit my home?"

"Well..." Roger frowns slightly and lets out a strained chuckle. "I thought you were busy. At least, that's what you told me when I asked you if you were ready to make your choice."

"Choice?" L echoes.

"Yes... To choose your successor."

"Am I not good enough?" L asks, looking Roger straight in the eyes. "Have I grown old or outdated?"

"No, of course not," he objects hurriedly and rubs his dry hands. "You know that's your successor is a... precaution measure."

L stays silent, wiggling his toes. A minutes passes like this until Roger asks quietly:

"But your successor is the reason you came here, isn't it? Do you want to watch them?"

"I don't need a successor," L tells him quietly, standing up from his chair. He makes quiet, slow steps to Roger's chair until he stands towering behind the man. "Don't you think that I am the best in what I'm doing, Roger?.."

He tries to swivel in order to face L, but the latter put his hands on the back of his chair, keeping the old man in place. Roger flinches when he feels L's hands that crawl up his back onto his shoulders, starting to massage them gently.

"What... what is wrong with you?" he asks, suddenly feeling too tired to protest. L's movements are smooth and relaxing, making his muscles limps.

"Don't you like what I'm doing?" L asks in a low voice, leaning closer to his ear.

Rogers utters something unintelligible. He hears L's soft chuckle in his ear and then feels L's arms slide from his shoulders to his chest, clever fingers moving, undoing the buttons of his shirt and sliding under the material.

"Where am I supposed to be now?" L asks.

"I don't know..." Roger mutters, reclining heavily into the chair.

"Who knows of my whereabouts?"

"Quillish..."

"How can I get in touch with Quillish?"

"I have... his contacts... all the information stores in my computer... It's secured data..."

"What is the password to your computer?"

"H... here..." Rogers watches his hands in some kind of trance. Hands pick up some paper and pen from the desks and write the combination of letters and figures on it.

"Thank you, Roger," L says quietly.

The man nods and utters a loud cry, that gets muffled against the back of L's hand that he has pressed to Roger's mouth. He looks down on the red stain that's somehow appeared on his stomach, but L's fingers clutch the back of his head and tilt it upwards. Something cold slides swiftly against the skin of his neck, leaving a stinging pain behind its trail.

Roger's eyes droop and vision slowly goes black as he watches L step from behind his chair and take the piece of paper from his desk. The last thing he sees is L's back, while he types something on the computer in Roger's office.

* * *

Matt wanted to go back to Wammy's. He really wanted, and even headed back to the train station but when he checked his wallet, he was reminded that Mello held most of the money. Matt was left with just a few bank notes that surely wouldn't be enough to by the train ticket. And it appears that now he has to move on without friend, money, case, and way to go back. Though the latter is slightly exaggerated – he can call to Wammy's anytime and ask to pick him up. Of course he'll be in troubles afterwards, and surely Roger will drown him in a cup of his merciless ire, but at least he'll be at home.

Matt sighs and kicks the empty can under his feet. He doesn't want to face angry Roger... who wants, really? Maybe he should call Mello and beg for forgiveness?

A grumbles pass through his lips at the thought. He's not guilty, it's Mello being unreasonable! So what if all he said were guesses, they made sense! Kind of... Well, but they were more rational than Mello's babble about the hypnosis.

"Ugh!" Matt shakes his head, feeling simultaneously angry, hurt and anxious.

Depressing yellowish casts of light of the tall street lamps make his eyes hurt. He stomps angrily along the road, not really caring where he goes. With each second the anger in him grows more and more powerful and preposterous. He suddenly starts to think that in reality he hates Mello, hates this goddamn town, hates the passers-by and people in general.

Matt sighs loudly, catching himself on the silliest of thoughts. Mello's short temper somehow passed on to him, it seems. Best to find some kind of a shelter to spend the night in. Or should he call Roger?

He walks deep in thoughts for twenty minutes, not knowing or processing the way his feet lead him. The buildings around him get nastier looking, and it's soon that Matt finds himself in the uncrowded and thinly populated part of town. He stops in his track, looking around: the houses around him are small, old and dirty, and there are no lights in any window he sees. Maybe that's for the best... he can spend the night somewhere here.

Someone's following him. He's been feeling them behind his back for the last ten minutes. The steps of this someone are quiet and careful, but they never fail to come after him.

What does this person need? To mug him? Matt doubts he looks like a rich kid. What if it's the killer, that walks behind him? But why? Couldn't he just stab Matt in the back? He takes a deep calming breath. No need to panic, it's not the killer. He should just turn around and look at the person...

Matt turns abruptly, ready to face whoever there is to face.

Two round eyes gaze at him, fright evident on the face. Young girl stops dead in her tracks, staring at Matt. There's nothing scary or threatening in this girl, but Matt flinches nonetheless and takes a step back.

"What the hell do you want from me?" he asks, staring at the girl with the same expression of fear, that he sees on her face.

"I'm just looking for a place to commit a peaceful suicide. Don't flatter yourself thinking I'm here because of you."

"Uhuh, right. As if I'm dumb enough to believe that someone's willing to die in such a young age," he remarks scornfully. Well, girl is not dangerous, plus she scared him to half death. Matt can let himself be a bit unceremonious. "Theoretically speaking, a young girl like yourself shouldn't have any reasons to be willing to die."

Matt turns his back to her and resumes his strides. Girl walks behind him, still following his every step.

"Theoretically? And what if the young girl left her home because she had terrible relationship with her parents, and then she decided to act in porno film just to make some money, but chickened out the last moment and ended up being beaten by some assholes, far away from home? Are these reasons enough to be willing to die?"

"Mmhm," Matt mutters, not looking back.

Soon enough they stumble upon some kind of abandoned motel. The place looks old, and half of it was ruined by fire. The entrance door is blocked, but Matt finds a broken window, through which he and the girl climb through.

The ex-motel is a mess... Most probably it was build in sixties, but the fire destroyed half of it about twenty years ago. Nevertheless, there is some furniture left inside of the building, mainly half-broken chairs, covered in dust, moth-eaten sofas, and few coffee tables.

"I'm going to stay the night here," Matt announces, finally turning to look at the girl. "Do you still have intentions to kill yourself? Because if you do, please find another place, alright."

"I think I will stay here," she replies and flops on the floor beside Matt.

"Whatever," he mutters and lies his back down, turning away from the girl immediately.

They lay in silence, listening to creaks of the roof and crackles of bugs outside. For some reason Matt can't will himself to sleep, even though he feels tired as hell. But his lack of drowsiness is understandable... who knows what this seemingly harmless girl can do to him?

He casts a surreptitious glance at the girl over his shoulder. Her back is turned to him, and all he sees is her fair hair and the rim of her short skirt.

Oh, god.

Matt turns his eyes away quickly, feeling his cheeks getting hot as fire. Girl's skirt has pulled up enough to let him see her underwear.

He's never been this close to the girls... Of course, he sometimes talked to them, played with them when he was a child, but when he grew up, it became an unwritten rule that most of his time he spent with Mello, who was skeptical to everyone, not differing them by gender.

What are the girls, really? Judging by this particular girl, they are foolish. Foolish enough to escape the house while having parents. Foolish enough to sell their bodies and then be willing to die. And of course, it's the limit of foolishness to follow a stranger and decide to stay a night with him. But then again, in Wammy's House there are quite smart girls... Not as smart as Near, per se, but smart nonetheless. Though when they see or talk about Neil (local handsome), they look and act like total idiots with no brain.

Damn, girls are strange. And they make his head hurt.

"Hey..." the girl suddenly whispers, meddling into Matt's thoughts.

"What?" he mutters, feeling awkward.

"What is your name?"

"Why do you care?" he frowns, casting girl an annoyed glance.

"Just being friendly... That's alright if you don't want to tell me your name," she sighs, and he feels how the lower part of her body presses against him. Warm. Hot even. More specifically, the hellish warmth spreads across his face. "Will you tell me your age at least?"

"Uh... I'm seventeen," he mumbles, still feeling awkward and thus quite irritated with himself.

"Cool. I'm sixteen."

"Yeah, awesome," he says, clearing his throat.

This conversation is awful. For some reason he wants to boast with his age and act all manly, and at the same time he feels like a ten year old child. Matt vehemently wishes for the girl to just fall asleep. It's not that much of a wish, is it?

"So... what are you doing here, all alone? Did you run away from home, too?" the girl keeps nagging at him with questions.

"Something like that."

"I thought so..."

Once again he dares to take a glance over his shoulder. The girl now lays much closer to him. And her half-naked bottom presses against his jeans that suddenly feel way too tight. Damn it.

After a long minute of silence, he whispers:

"How much? You need some money, right?.."

"Fifteen pounds for holding hands. Hundred pounds for a kiss. Four hundred for sex."

"What?!" Matt almost yelps, starting back from the girl to seat up and look at her face. "That's way too expensive!"

He looks at her, indignation evident on his face, when she breaks out laughing and then turns her head to look at him.

"I'm kidding," she says softly. "You seem to be a nice guy... I don't mind spending the night with you."

She reaches with her arm to hold him by the hand. Matt looks at that slender, narrow palm that holds his hand tightly, and suddenly remembers those few times when Mello held his hand. Mainly, when he was helping Matt to get back on his feet after some unfortunate fall. His palm was just as warm, but not quite as narrow.

Matt lays back down, still holding the girl's hand.

"You remind me of someone," he says quietly.

"I guess that someone is beautiful."

"Did you just compliment yourself?"

She doesn't answer and sits up on her knees, to look at him from above. Then her face grows closer, and she whispers in his ear:

"I hope... one day you'll be brave enough to tell what you truly wish for."

Matt is just about to ask the girl what in the heaven she means with her words, when her lips graze his. Feather-light touch. Warm, and he can feel her breath on his cheeks. Strange sensations...

They spend the night together. The girl's body is warm and soft to his touch. And feelings during the process is something that is hard to describe. And Matt feels ashamed for himself. He doesn't last long, not at all. He reaches his limit almost as soon as it all starts. Luckily, the girl doesn't laugh and doesn't act all haughty. And luckily, his hormones are finally making some good, leaving the shameful start forgotten very soon.

It's strange to think that he's just been through something that should have been a point of importance in his life, in an abandoned building with a person he doesn't know or care about. Though, his experience is probably not the worst one. And he falls asleep surprisingly fast after they are done.

Tomorrow. He'll sort everything out tomorrow.

* * *

A/N:

Just a little note for you, guys. I'd like to say huge thanks to all of you. It makes me happy to know that you read the story, and I'm really grateful for the reviews - it's nice to know what you think c:

And I'm sorry to say this, but most probably I won't be updating as frequently as I used to. A lot has been going on as of lately, and maybe I'm becoming a little too personal, but let me give you an advice: please, be careful with those around you. There are many 'strange' people in the world, and in order not to get an unpleasant surprise, be cautious with your words and actions, ok?

So, let me end here. Again, thank you for reading and I promise I'll try to give you new chapter as soon as I can.

* * *

[*] I literally loled at this while writing: Bear... as an animal, or was it a person? *gasp* Or both...?

oh, the references


	6. Power

**Ch. 6 Power**

_Four years passed since Bear's death. Almost nothing has changed in Wammy's House, only number of tutors increased radically. Four years since he and Pumpkin are no longer Bulls, but parts of other families. At least, Pumpkin's now amongst Owls, while B... B is no one's. B is his own family. Two years after the incident, Wammy officially proclaimed him L's backup and he was granted a separate room, just like L. The only difference between him and L, is that the latter doesn't live in his room anymore. He seemed to recover from his loss rather quickly and asked Wammy to make him a part of a new family. And Wammy could never say 'no' to L. So now L spends more time with the other children, and rarely ventures back in his room. _

_ The new family... It's ridiculous. L didn't even bother to create a name for his family. He shrugged and said they didn't need a name, so amongst children, L's group was called 'First'. Just because it was the first 'family' in Wammy's that didn't have a name. _

_ L's family consist of pitiful children, all of them are younger than him. B's certain that it was the part of L's plan. Young children look at him like at some kind of a mysterious hero, they respect him and most probably they are quite afraid of him. The reason of their fright is understandable – L is indeed a great mystery for everybody. And what B resents about it, is that L has become a mystery for him, too. After Bear's death, L changed. It's almost as if he's suddenly become indifferent to everything around him. He doesn't care about anything, he merely spends his life somewhere inside his own mind. He doesn't put his emotions on display, doesn't make unnecessary moves, and he doesn't feel fear anymore. If anything, he's become the embodiment of Zen. And his Zen is as pure, as dirty his shirt and jeans are. And this new feature of his, made him a leader of not only his small group, but of the whole House. _

_ Beyond can no longer understand L. Is this what's supposed to happen after the broken shell repaired itself? Wasn't L supposed to wallow in his despair and slowly rot in that room of his?_

_ About a year ago L was suffering through serious quinsy. He was taken into infirmary. And B couldn't really wait for L to recover. He wanted to have his eyes on him all the time. And so he poured a bucket of cold water over himself and went for walk outside the orphanage, stark naked. It was winter and he almost injured his feet by frost, but nevertheless he ended up being taken to the infirmary. _

_ A week he spent with L there. And during those seven days L didn't say a word to him, even though B taunted and provoked him. L didn't only stay silent, he barely moved at all. And after few days it started to seem that L was just a piece of furniture there. They both were thirteen back then. But L looked like he was still ten – short and puny; an eight year old could have easily fit into his jeans. It irritated B, because his own body was developing like that of a normal child. He already was several inches taller than L and didn't seem as frail anymore. And he was furious at the thought that after few more years he won't be able to imitate L so believably. _

_ But now his worries mean nothing. During the last year, L suddenly shot up and became even a bit taller than himself. _

_ And right now B stands in the darkness behind the closed door of the room, in which L's family lives. It's two in the morning, and that means it's been two hours since they started... Started that freaky game L made up for the children. B knows that they carry out this game every month, at twelve o'clock in the night. First L tells children some stories that don't make sense, and then gives simple task that kids should finish by the time next Night of Stories comes. _

_ Night of Stories, huh... A dumb game, but children like it. Plus, he knows that L organizes these nights with a special taste: he turns off all the lights in the room and plays scary organ music on the old record player. And then he starts telling the stories that have neither beginning, nor ending. _

_ B presses his ear closer to the door and hears muffled music and quiet voice:_

_ "...The sea had a name. Grayskins called it 'Mare Sperum'. Every year, during the solar eclipse they gathered on the shore and yelled at the sea, screamed and cried at it, looking at sea's quiet transparent waves. Their tears fell into the sea and froze on the water. Grayskins kept weeping, until their tears made a narrow track that led straight to the darkened Sun. The eclipse in the lands of Grayskins used to last for a month. A month of the eclipse equaled a year. Grayskins hated their sea, even though its waters were beautiful. So beautiful that those, who weren't of Grayskins kind, dropped dead at the mere glance at it. But I'm not talking about the sea, am I? It's about the track of tears that Grayskins built. The track, that had its own purpose. No one liked living through a whole year of darkness and Black Sun. And so, each year Grayskins had been sending the fools in the boats to their Black Sun. They believed it could do something good... The boats floated on the track of tears and no one looked at it. They were waiting. Soon enough fools disappeared from the sight and track of tears melted into the sea waters. They never came back. But the water of the sea turned into a sweet milk... And those, who had time to drink the milk till it became water again, were becoming fools."_

_ Someone giggles and then asks in merry tone:_

_ "Why did they drink from the sea, if they knew they'd become fools?"_

_ "Well, some believe there's no happier man than a fool," L answers, his voice serious._

_ "I don't think it's very good to be silly..." another voice says with uncertainty._

_ "That's true, indeed. But maybe you should try to think over this story? What if you'll see some positive sides?"_

_ "Okay... I'll try."_

_ "Then let me tell you another story... His dread was awful. The man was shivering with fear. You can't imagine the terror he felt – his limbs were numb and heavy, something sticky and cold crawled inside of his stomach while he stared at the old hag before him. Can you even imagine that kind of fear, when your whole body becomes paralyzed? When you can't control the processes inside of you, and don't notice your own warm fluids that drain down your leg? That's how the man felt," L's soft voice tells behind the close door. "The hag smiled at the man. Her teeth formed a row of spiky fangs, hundreds of them. Her skin was thin and gray, covered in thousands of purulent pimples that bursted with stinky pus with each movement of her face. Her claws were sharp and long, like yataghans that could tear the flesh in million pieces. But most terrible were her eyes... hypnotic eyes, rimmed with darkest of shadows, glowing red and deformed. The man knew whom he met – the Gargoyle. The most terrible and horrendous creature of his land. Some people said that the gargoyles were humans that died in agony, and who still held a grudge against their killers...The gargoyles lived in the Forest and ate snakes eggs, sucking the content through the holes in the shell. Sometimes gargoyles also ate mould and dust, but their favorite dish was human flesh. The gargoyles were the reason people never ventured into the Forest. But this man was brave and clever, he thought that the gargoyles were just a fable. And what did he do upon facing the nightmare, that held him hypnotized with its stare?.."_

_ L falls silent and nothing but quiet organ music comes from behind the door for a good minute. At last, some of the kids asks in a high-pitched voice:_

_ "What happened next?"_

_ "I don't know. What do you think happened?"_

_ "Maybe he escaped the gargoyle...?"_

_ "Hm... But what would you do, if you faced the gargoyle? Let's think all together..."_

_ B doesn't listen further. He stares at the wall in front of him, thoughts reeling in his mind with a furious speed. The gargoyle... A creature from L's mind. Possibly, the creature L would be scared to meet. _

_ B smiles to himself. The gargoyle has a special power. Indeed, what will L do, when faced with hypnotic gargoyle from his nightmare?_

_ Two months later B knows the content of each and every book of the hypnosis there is in Wammy's House. But this knowledge is not nearly enough. He needs to learn more. The power of hypnosis is something indescribable, if he will master this skill, he will be able to control people's minds... lives... He'll be above everything. _

_ And once again he sneaks through the darkened corridor to L's bedroom, ready to listen to another of his tales. B doesn't notice the figure that appears behind him, being too deeply immersed in his thoughts. The realization dawns on him when someone's palm presses against his mouth, gagging him, and then a sharp knife pierces his stomach, digging under the layers of skin and muscles. His muffled moan gets choked in his own throat and he falls down helplessly as soon as the knife slides out of his body, letting the blood flow freely._

_ It's painful. And his blood is so wet, that it feels more like water that drains out of him. But water isn't that sticky or thick. For a moment B feels scared that he will lose too much blood, but it's immediate that he realizes the wound is not too deep. He lifts his eyes to look at the one, who stabbed him. The 'killer' stares at him with wide eyes, clenching the knife in his hand, and then runs away as quick as he can. _

_ B feels like laughing. Who could imagine... L becoming a killer. _

_ He lays on the floor, clutching onto his stomach, barely suppressing the chuckles. L thinks he's just killed B... It was obvious in his eyes that he was scared of what he'd done. But still he thinks that someone will find B dead tomorrow's morning. Well... No one will find B dead. But they will find someone other's corpse, that's what he can grant. _

_ B rises from the floor slowly, holding onto his wounded stomach. He should make a bandage, and then he'll drag some boy at the place of his supposed 'demise'. And tomorrow they will find a dead body there, while B will be far away from Wammy's. It's perfect. L will be too scared to check who was killed the last night, and with B's disappearance, he'll be sure that it was B. _

_ And... years later L will face his own nightmare... his very own gargoyle._

* * *

His laptop makes a short beep and a gothic letter 'W' appears on the screen. L turns his eyes from the computer display to his laptop, staring at it with slight surprise.

"What is it?" he mutters in the mic, clicking it on with a tap of his finger.

"Roger is dead."

Light turns his head to look at L. His eyes are abnormally wide and pupils contracted, while pale fingers clutch at the coarse fabric of his jeans. Something terrible must have occurred, if L's reaction is so keen. But who the hell is Roger?

"When?" L asks and clicks some button on the keyboard to bring Wammy's face on the display. The old man seems distressed and awfully disoriented, with his usually neat hair being an unkempt mess on his head.

"About an hour ago. They found him in his office. Throat slit, a wound in the stomach. Estimated time of death - ten in the morning. No one remembers seeing unauthorized persons nowhere near the orphanage's territory."

"Any evidences?"

"Nothing. No fingerprints, no footprints, no weapon left," Wammy tells, his tone calm.

"Have you questioned security service?"

"Yes. They saw no one."

"Any victims aside Roger?"

"No. Children are safe."

"What about data safety? Everything in tact?"

"No traces of crack or tampering," the old man sighs and frowns, looking in the camera with his eyes almost closed with heavy lids. "L, that's a matter of great concern."

"I understand," L murmurs and brings his thumb to his mouth. "Don't raise panic within the orphans. Don't let them know Roger was killed. Also, please, check the computer data once again. I want to know the exact time Roger last entered the system. Make an autopsy of the body and send me results as quickly as possible."

"Understood. Is that all?"

"For now – yes."

Wammy nods curtly and his face disappears from the screen. Light watches L, who still stares at the monitor of his computer with wary eyes. It's probably best not to distract him right now but... He wants to know what is so awful and alarming about the murder.

"Who's Roger?" Light asks.

"He was Wammy's deputy. Seeing that Wammy himself had to be around me, he needed someone to look after the orphanage."

"And he was killed, even though the security system had been at the highest level," Light remarks and turns in his chair to face L. "Speaking of the security, shouldn't there be surveillance cameras in the orphanage?"

"There are. But about a week ago someone put them out of order," L frowns.

"A week is a rather long period of time. Didn't anyone bother to repair the surveillance system means?"

"Roger always was too slow with anything that pertained maintenance in any way. I know that he tried to renew the surveillance, but the damage to the cameras was almost irreparable."

"Do you think it was the work of the killer?"

L stares off in space for a minute before saying slowly:

"No, I am sure it was not. The killer was willing to take the risk. He worked his way unnoticed into the orphanage, even though his task was almost impossible, and then he killed Roger at his workplace. Either he was willing to get caught, or he was sure that no one will attempt to catch him. In any case, his actions were risky."

"I see... Even if the killer had a thought of damaging the cameras, he wouldn't wait a whole week after."

"I suppose that's correct," L nods.

"But who broke the cameras?" Light asks, mildly perplexed.

"I have one guess," L mumbles darkly, dialing Wammy on his laptop again.

The answer is almost immediate, and Wammy's face pops up at the screen once again.

"Do you need something?" he asks.

"I want you to check if all of my successor aspirants are in the orphanage."

"Will be done."

L turns to Light, who's just emitted a small chuckle. He glances at the young man quizzically.

"I'm sorry. It's funny to think that your successors broke the cameras," Light smiles.

"They had to have a good reason to do this. I wonder what they were up to..."

"Whatever it was, it did no good."

"Indeed."

Late in the night Wammy sends L an extensive autopsy report. It's three in the morning and Light is already fast asleep while L reads through the received file, listening to the old man's summary of the important results, that the autopsy had.

"... there are sharp force injuries to the neck upper torso and stomach. The sharp force injuries consist of incised/stab wounds, that were made with the knife. Body temperature, rigor and livor mortis, and stomach contents approximate the time of death between 9:30 and 10:30 a.m. on ninth of August, 2011. Immediate cause of death: profuse blood loss due to the inflicted wounds."

"Did you check the last time Roger entered the database?" L asks, not taking his eyes off the report.

"Yes. The last login recorded at 9:35 a.m. on ninth of August."

"Curious," L mutters and glances at Wammy's face on the screen. "What about my successors?"

"Near is in the orphanage. Mello and Matt are nowhere to be found," the old man sighs and sleeks his mustaches thoughtfully. "It appears those three are in the process of investigating a series of killings."

"Are they? Hm," L hums, "Send me details of the case they are dealing with."

"I'm afraid there's no much information. But I will find and send you all there is to know."

"Thank you. How long has it been since Mello and Matt left the Wammy's House?"

"The last time someone saw them was eight days ago."

"I see."

"Do you want me to find them?"

L seems to ponder over the old man's question for a few moments.

"Yes. Find them, but don't interrupt their search."

"Understood. Anything else?"

"No. Thank you."

Wammy nods and his face vanishes from the screen. L takes one more glance at the autopsy report. Approximate time of death is between 9:30 and 10:30 a.m... The last time Roger logged into the database was at the same day, at 9:35 a.m. Was he still alive and well at that time? Or did he want to worry Wammy about the intruder? No, not possible. Roger wouldn't had time to send a signal, seeing that he couldn't even use the button that alarmed the security. If the murderer inflicted wounds on Roger at 9:30, the cut on Roger's neck and wound in the stomach, should have gotten him dead within five minutes. That means, it was the killer, who accessed the database at 9:35. But the question remains how killer managed to learn the password. There is no possible ways to hack the database in only five minutes. Killer knew the password, and most probably, he learned it from Roger himself. The database contains information that must be held secured. All of L's cases, Watari's contacts, everything that presents potential threat for many people, is now known to the killer. And first thing first, L needs to ensure safety of those around him and himself. So, it seems he and Light will have to move to some new place yet again...

L's laptop beeps. Wammy has send the details of the case that L's successors has been trying to solve. L clicks the file open and briefly studies the facts. There indeed not much known about the killings. The details, surrounding the deaths came under scrutiny as they surfaced under investigation by the police. Five victims, all killed using same method, same tactics. Typical serial killer. The only thing that catches attention are the hallucinations of witnesses. The twins...

L glances at the door of the bedroom. Light claims that there are parallel realms, full of identical twins of people, who live here, in this world. Can it be that the killings and Light's world have some kind of connection?..

* * *

In the morning Matt wakes up alone, lying naked on the cold wooden floor, covered with just his own coat, and shivering from the cold wind that blows from every crevice of the old worn out walls and unglazed windows. The weather outside is nasty – thunder rages, throwing cold droplets of rain each and every way, and deafening ears with loud peals. The storm was the main reason of Matt's awakening, and it seems it's going to also be the main reason for Matt not to leave his shelter for a while.

The girl he spent the night with, disappeared and as soon as Matt woke up and didn't find the girl beside him, he experience a curt rush of panic. His backpack was still laying beside him, and when he searched through it, the only thing that he determined as missing was one bag of chips. His wallet, laptop, cell phone and game console were left untouched. Honestly... the girl could at least take his money. Where did she go without any cash? Wasn't she homeless or something?..

Matt shakes his head. It's not time to think about the girl. He still needs to do something about Mello. God knows where the blond boy is, or what's he doing right now.

Next twenty minutes Matt spends dressing up, smoking a cigarette, munching on the left pack of chips and glaring at the screen of his laptop. Freaking broken internet connection... he can't do anything to make it work during the storm.

It takes him ten minutes to finish his snack. During those ten minutes, the storm has only grew worse, and now Matt can tremble with not only cold, but also fear of the abandoned motel's old walls suddenly coming crushing on his head. Stupid weather... heavy clouds make it even worse, for they cover the sun and make it seem that it's six in the evening and not nine in the morning. And the rain doesn't stop in the next ten, eleven, twelve o'clock.

By half past twelve in the afternoon Matt has already gnawed at his own fingernails, walked all over the dusty and cold room for about two hundred times, and understood that it won't take long for him to go mad. He opens the file of the case on his computer, re-reads it and tries to think of some genius idea. But his brain seems to give very labored birth to thoughts, and for the next five minutes Matt spends time kicking the damp lumps of dust and rubbish on the floor. The internet is still not working. For the umpteenth time Matt tries to get to Mello by the phone, but the only answer he gets is the short beeps. Oh well.

Matt drags yet another cigarette from the pack, lights it up and tries to figure out the way to construct some antennae, using improvised means, when his laptop comes to life, flashing with light. He hurries to it, stumbling over the debris and litter on the floor, and flops in front of the monitor.

Matt's vigor, however, abates when he sees Near's logo on the screen. He really hoped it would be Mello.

"Hi," Matt mumbles, putting on his headphones.

"Are you alone?" the robotic voice asks him and Matt feels the urge to roll his eyes. Near can be so frustrating with his need to constantly cipher and hide.

"Yeah, yeah, no one's around here. You can show your face."

The screen of Matt's laptop blinks and Near's owlish eyes greet him. Matt cocks his eyebrow.

"A cozy place you found," the white-haired boy remarks, observing the debris and broken glass behind Matt's back.

"Thank you. I tried my hardest," Matt says darkly. "So what is the reason of your call?"

"Roger is dead."

"What?" Matt asks dumbly, looking at Near who curls the strand on his hair.

"They found him dead in his office couple of hours ago. We were told that he died of a heart attack."

"And?"

"That means, you two can take a chance and return to the orphanage without any undesirable consequences," Near sighs.

"Isn't there anyone who watches over the orphanage right now?"

"Roger's deputy's taken his place, but... Let's say, he's not very diligent in his work," there's almost a smirk on Near's lips.

"And why exactly do you want for us to return?"

"Because I am positive that you look in the wrong place. And I merely want to give you a friendly advice. You won't get anything if you continue investigating your way."

"Thank you very much," Matt mutters sarcastically. "You, perhaps, have solved the case already?"

"No need for biting. Speaking of biting, where is Mello?" Near asks, his eyes once again scanning the space behind Matt's back.

"He'll be along."

"Is that so? Well then, I've got nothing else to tell you."

"See you," Matt shrugs and Near nods before receding from view.

Matt stares at the empty screen before him. As Mello'd say: "Cotton-head bastard surely knows something." The only problem is – Mello's not here to say that. And probably that's for the best, because if he heard Near's words, he'd waste another week in his vain searches.

The rainstorm outside has calmed down. Matt glances out of the window before putting his laptop back in the backpack. It will be relatively easy to find Mello. Right now he probably bugs the witnesses or examines the crime scene. Good thing Matt knows exactly the names and addresses. All he's got to do, is to someway persuade Mello to come back to Wammy's.

* * *

L watches Light, who stands near the big, tall window. This morning they left their rented flat in Stockholm and flied to Tokyo. It was Light's request, actually. L wanted to relocate to US or maybe China, the place didn't really matter, but when Light got to know of yet another move, he asked to go back to Japan. Perhaps, he misses his family or his friends. Or maybe he just wants to be somewhere he feels at home. It's probably nice to have this feeling of coming back...

Something stings dully inside of L's chest. The feeling makes him freeze for a moment and then smile bitterly. Envy – something, he thought he's long since forgotten, is what he feels right now. Last time he felt the sting of such jealousy was when he was an eight year old boy. A child envy of one man's children, who had that very man as their father. Bear... he was something close to idol for L. And L loved him so much, it made something shift in his mind when Bear died.

And now, years later, he envies Light for having someone who cares about him just as much as Bear cared for his children. And he feels that strange kind of fear upon thinking that maybe Light cares about others in his life. That he not only represents Bear's children whom L envied so much, but is also destined to become new Bear, who will care about others more than he cares about L.

It's foolish to let these selfish feelings get to him, because about eighty six percent of what he's just thought about, is reasoning marred with emotions. L knows that Bear couldn't care about him as he cared about his own children, even if he wanted to. But Bear did cherish him in some way. And Light... Light loves him more than Bear ever did. Probably more, than anyone did. And right now Light stares in the window, watching the yard outside of their new house.

L takes a glance out of the window, too. It's still summer, but yard is already covered with dry rusty leaves... There are two poplars, an oak and four unidentifiable shrubs that he sees. Shrubs are growing right below the windows, pressing into the walls. Poplars match two corners of the fence. Oak, that grows right near the small summerhouse, casts a giant shadow that covers almost everything in the yard. It was here years before this house was built, and it still remembers the times, when it was surrounded with gardens in bloom instead of other gray houses. Its roots probably reach far from here. Farther than this empty kennel in the neighbor's yard, than the metal bench on the other side of the street. Garbage cans. The white steam that flows out of the next house's kitchen window. And the music that's heard from the second floor of that house.

A fluffy cat runs past the window. Sparrows jump on the empty lawn, searching for some forage under the leaves. Young man in white shirt stands behind the window, looking at everything with peaceful eyes, and it feels... it feels that he's slipping away, locking himself in the circle of emptiness and calmness. That circle of purity that's meant to protect from everything and everyone, and mostly, that's meant not to let near _the hands of those, who tangle the soul_. The very circle L himself has been building around himself since he was ten.

L suddenly hops off his chair, to run clumsily towards Light and cling to his arm.

"Don't go away," he says quietly.

Light's hand comes upon his shoulder. And he doesn't really expect Light to answer, so he's not surprised when the young man asks calmly instead:

"I recall you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Yes," the tension and sudden fear subside gradually, as L forces his thoughts to return to reality. "I wonder if Raito-kun deems it possible for someone from another reality to come here?"

"Except of me?" Light raises his eyebrow and turns his eyes to look out of the window once again. "I seriously doubt that. My, so to say, transition happened due to the fact I was already involved and connected with another realm – the shinigami world. I've actually spent much time thinking over this matter, but I still don't have a clear answer. I can't point the main reason the Gates to this world opened for me. Was it because of the death note? Yes, I suppose the death note definitely played its role. It was probably the main link in the whole chain of events, the main reason I could do as much as get in touch with something otherworldly. My dreams served as some sort of a vehicle that eventually led me to a full loss of contact with the world I lived in. But when I try to figure out the catalyst... I can't help but think that the reason that made me have the 'dreams', is hidden in you. You in this world, or you from my world – that's what I do not know. One thing is for certain though - everything started from you."

"In other words... it's impossible to walk through the Gates for anyone who hasn't been in the direct contact with other realms."

"Yes. And I believe, in order to cross the worlds, three factors are needed: the experience, the catalyst, and the 'vehicle'. I might be wrong, but I can't see any other way to explain what happened to me."

"I see," L says, and there's a tiny indent between his brows. So the victims' 'twins' have nothing to do with other realms. Can it possibly be that there's different kind of supernatural powers involved? Because if one can travel between the realms, there's possibility for others to do something just as hardly imaginable.

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	7. Wheel

**I just realized I forgot to add a disclaimer. So here you go: I don't own Death Note or any of the main characters. With that being said, let's get back to the story.**

**Ch. 7 Wheel**

His heavy boots clatter loudly with each step he takes on the stairs. Such a habitual sound, which Mello'd love to hear in a crashingly-advancing version: ten pairs of boots, squeaks of leather and tinkling of metal buckles – this sound irritates him today, making his head pound with ache. Because this all has never been the truth. The clanging, clatter and forcefulness, but nothing aside from that, nothing to defend themselves with from a real danger. That's who Matt and himself are. Paper angels of Hell. With no bikes, no impressive muscles, no authentic masculine scent. They are barely deemed scary by anyone in the orphanage. There's no really ten of them, just Matt and Mello, who can't conquer, using the quantity and uproar.

Mello frowns, looking down at his body, clad in a bit oversized leather jacket. Unwrap him from these clothes – and you'll find pale, skinny body. Wrap it back again, hide the protruding ribs and thin neck, veil the frightened eyes with bangs of hair and angry glare – and there you have Mello. If only there was someone else beside Matt in his crew... He could form a real gang that would stomp on the ground like an avalanche, emitting the scent of danger. He could be the leader of a formidable pack. He could...

Matt knows about Mello's dreams. He is the only one with whom Mello shares, actually. And at a certain point in the past Mello told Matt about his worries. And of course, Matt objected, saying they were not just some pitiful rubbish. They didn't have big fists indeed, but they had their brains and knowledge. "Information is vital", that's been their motto. Of course Mello knew that. With these very words he used to console Matt all the time. But now it seems Mello himself needs a consolation. And the motto is not as comforting as he thought it was. Not much power left in the worn out words. Especially now, when Mello has his information but can do nothing with it. Murders and witnesses. Theories and guesses. Questions and lack of answers.

He kicks a trash can in a fit of temper, watching it fall on the ground, spilling its useless insides on the dirty tiles. Should he head back to the orphanage empty-handed? Matt's probably already there, and Near's probably ten steps ahead of him in the investigation. Screw them both. Because Mello tries and persists, and does his hardest and is ready to move mountains just to fulfill his task. It's not like everything comes to him as easily as it comes to Near.

He steps on the pile of garbage and strolls further on his way, sharply striking the soles of his boots against the floor to get rid of a gum that's sticked to it. Small hair on his neck stand on end, making his skin tickle, and he scratches it, grunting under his breath. Why is he even still here? It's probably best to return to Wammy's House and sit there and think and get an actual chance to beat Near.

Mello looks around the empty corridor of a cheap motel he decided to stay in. Poor choice. The place gives him creeps. And the air smells strange here – sweet and nauseous. Probably some junkies smoke their pot. Mello makes a disgusted expression and attempts to make a step forward.

Next moment he kicks and thrashes in someone's grip. Arms hold him tightly in place, and there's a rag pressed against his face. The sweet smell becomes unbearable, filling his mind with black fog. A cold sweat drops on his back and his limbs turn flaccid too soon. He can't see anything, for there's only blackness before his eyes. It doesn't take him long to finally lose his consciousness and fall completely into the darkness of his own mind.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Pumpkin's voice sounds curious, as he watches Near fiddle with his toys.

"What does it look like?" Near answers, not turning his head to look at the man. Since the last time they spoke, Pumpkin's been acting very clingy. It's hard to believe that a grown man would hang around the teenager, but here you have Palmer Matthews walking in circles around Near for three days straight. Near knew it would happen, for it wasn't hard to see that Pumpkin was still very much a kid from the inside, a kid who wanted to have friends. And when Near bugged him and constantly tried to talk to him, it gave Pumpkin an illusion that Near wanted to be his friend. Oh, bother.

"How old are you?" Pumpkin suddenly asks.

"Sixteen."

"You don't look like you're sixteen. But then again, you can't tell that I'm..."

"Twenty eight. Yes, I know your age," Near cuts him off easily, irritation carefully veiled with monotonous tone.

"So..." Pumpkin starts once again. "Are you investigating something? I can be a good informant. For one, I can tell you one thing about Roger's death, a thing they decided to hide from kids."

"If you are going to tell me Roger didn't die from natural causes but was killed, please don't bother yourself. I already know that."

"What?! How? Who told you?" Pumpkin almost jumps from his seat.

"Judging by your reaction, I was right. Roger was killed," Near says thoughtfully, and finally turns his head to look at the pudgy man. "You know, mr. Matthews, quite frankly I don't understand the reason you insist on hanging around me. Please, leave me alone. I don't need anything from you, and you can't give me any more information."

"How do you know that?" the chubby man's eyebrows droop a little before he sighs and frowns, obviously in show of obstinacy. "I may be the only clue you have."

"No. You are not," Near's voice if soft but confident. "As I said, you have nothing that can be useful to me. Now leave."

The boy's back is turned to him. Near tells him cold words with such an ease, such light-heartedness, that for a split second Pumpkin feels eight year old boy once again – scared to say what's on his mind, scared to go against people who tower above him, using their age or power as an advantage. But when he looks down at the floor, he sees the worn out shoes of a grown man and hands that are almost the size of Near's body. He is not a boy anymore. He is not a weakling.

Palmer Matthews clears his throat and utters his words in the most deep and manly voice he can muster:

"Alright. Good luck to you, son."

He turns then and walks away slowly, having no clue about Near's quiet laughter and jolly smile behind his back.

Late summer heat falls on Wammy's House. The sun beams shine brightly, draining the soil of water, drying up leaves and grass, and making it impossible for Near to go outside of the orphanage walls. And together with the heat, a sport fever overwhelms almost all of the orphanage inhabitants. Almost.

Occupants of the House have moved into the yard, leaving four walls like a boring shell. Everyone who was able to walk, yell, run, kick and bear the intolerable heat, hatched out of the House. They still breakfast, lunch, supper and sleep in Wammy's, but the yard's become the center of social life, proudly celebrating the closure of the summer sport season.

It's Thursday, 11th of August, half past twelve in afternoon. And it's been exactly eleven days since the beginning of the vacation, and during this period of time, the population of Wammy's House has turned black, sunburn and acquired an overall savage look.

Near purses his lips, glancing out of the window after yet another deafening scream of joy and wave of applause that followed. His co-habitants are playing cricket, it seems. What a foolish waste of time and energy. He silently blesses his genes for making him an albino – at least there's no one here to bug him with questions and pleas to go outside.

"Hm..." Near hums quietly, curling the strand of his hair in attempt to concentrate on his thoughts.

The information he's gathered is, in all honesty, useless. It won't help him find the murderer, unless he somehow gets to know the name of the boy that once was meant to become L's successor. Who knows the name of that person? L and Wammy, of course. But the last thing Near's willing to do, is to bow to either of them and beg to tell him the name. Because even knowing the name and personality of a felon, it's still a problem to catch him. It seems that the killer has some kind of a gift or a power that makes him unrecognizable and thus almost impossible to get caught. So far he's murdered five people (six, if Near assumes that Roger was also within the victims). It's for certain that killer tries to catch L's attention, but his killings are not enough yet to rouse L's interest.

Near frowns , poking the polished wood of a table top with his finger. L must already know about Roger's murder. And most likely he also knows about the case Near, Mello and Matt are investigating at the moment. But did L make a correlation between the two cases? Did he understand that the murders were made just to make L notice the killer? Or is L stuck, trying to figure out the way the killer impacted his victims' psyche? It's a mistake to focus the attention solely on the fact of 'twins' or hallucinations that witnesses saw before victims' deaths. The killer did that trick just to_ draw L's attention_. It's a trick, but a powerful one. And Near is still very certain that something else, much more worse will come soon. Sign '1' was the first step. Roger's death was the second step, that not only finally managed to reach out to L, but also gave the murderer information that can be dangerous. L, most probably already knows that, and has already made proper precautions, but the question remains – what will be the killer's next step?

Another shriek comes from behind the ajar window. Near blinks, annoyed with constant distractions, and shuffles over the window, ready to close it shut. A wave of gasps and one more scream follow the shriek, and Near freezes, trying to discern the scene in the yard. People have gathered in a tight circle around something or someone, so it's impossible to say what it is, that they are looking at. A bad feeling washes over Near's heart, twisting his insides with cold fear. He opens the window completely and climbs onto the windowsill, just to hop off it onto the grass the next moment. His feet are still bare and the grass underneath tickles and pricks his skin. It feels unusual to rush somewhere, and Near stumbles and almost falls before he reaches the more and more growing crowd.

The most terrifying thing is that no one speaks, no one says anything. They just stand there, looking at one spot. And when Near pushes through the thick pack of people, breaking a trail to the center of the ring, no one attempts to hinder his way.

A boy lays on the ground, kicks his legs and utters strange, gurgling sounds. Minos, that's the boy's name. Though, it's hard to say for certain is it Minos or not. The most of boy's face is unrecognizable, smeared and crippled so that his left eye's pressed deep into his head. From the first glance it's hard to say what part of the head suffered the most – Near sees an open wound that reveals a crack on the skull, through which Minos' blood flows freely.

The sight is revolting and Near scrunches his eyes shut just for a second, in order to regain some of composure. It's then that he hears common exhalation which can only mean one thing. Near flutters his eyelids opened, not sure if he wants to see the maimed face and convulsive movements again. But he knows there won't be any moves from Minos now. There he lays, completely still. Pathetic and awkward in a rapidly growing pool of blood, and neither Near, nor those who stand around have any doubt that Minos is dead.

It's still very quiet. Everyone looks at Minos and stays silent. And Near just knows that he will remember this moment for the rest of his life. A corpse on the shiny green grass, a bright, hot sun, and the total silence. He will remember the silence of the place where too many people stayed mute.

Near turns his gaze away from Minos' body and only then does he notice Nun who sits on her knees, just few steps away from the corpse. Her hands hang helplessly on her sides, and the look in her eyes is something that makes tiny shivers of fear crawl up Near's spine. Nun's eyes are glazed while she looks into nothingness, and her whole body is unmoving, aside from her fingers, that stroke the blood-covered bat.

A new wave of nausea overwhelms Near when he notices tiny pieces of skin that have been left on Nun's bat's surface. From the look of it, it's clear as day that it was Nun who killed Minos. But why? What is the reason? In order to inflict such wounds, a great strength is needed. And Nun is a rather frail girl. Was it a murder in a heat of passion? But once again, why?

Thoughts flick rapidly in Near's head, and the crowd around him slowly comes back to life. The quiet hum and whispers soon turn into sobs and buzz. Someone rushes from the main building's doors to the sports field, and Near frowns, turning his back to the gross crime scene.

He hides behind the pack of his fellow students, watching the outcome of the tragedy. Shouts and sobs around him grow only louder, as understanding slowly sets up in people minds. Near watches as their educators shoo the crowd and try to bring Nun back to her senses. But... what is going on? The Wammy's House is supposed to be a place where even minor violence is frowned upon. The kill among inmates is something unthinkable. But haven't such incidents happened before? And is it possible that the story repeats itself now, fifteen years later?

* * *

Light flops down on the sofa next to L, holding a bottle of beer in his hand. He clicks the button of the remote control, and TV screen brightens up, bringing a face of news program hostess to the view. TV starts mumbling something quietly, creating a comforting and home-like feeling in the room. The lid of Light's beer makes a rather resonant sound upon opening, and then L hears a distinct sizzling of the beverage inside of the glass vessel. From the corner of his eyes he also sees Light's profile, his lips and the neck of the bottle that's now pressed to them.

"...man accused of standing in the street and firing at the passers-by — killing a ten-year-old boy — had roughly 200 rounds of ammunition stuffed into his jacket pocket, a backpack and the fanny pack he was wearing when arrested, prosecutors said Wednesday. Maeno Hitoshi, 24, was charged Friday with second-degree murder and other counts in Tuesday's shootings in Nagano Prefecture. Fourth-grader Igarashi Akio died in the shootings, and his mother and another woman were wounded. Fifteen other passers-by escaped as they were being fired upon, according to the criminal complaint..."

L squirms on his seat, pressing his knees closer to his chest. He stares at the screen with unreadable expression on his face, not really paying any attention to the words he hears and colorful frames that flick before his eyes.

Something is not right. A day ago a murder happened in Wammy's House. A girl gruesomely killed a boy during the cricket match. It happened on the eyes of dozens students and all of them assert that the boy didn't give any reasons for the girl to foam with anger. It just happened. All of a sudden the girl started hitting the boy with her bat, till his skull gave a crack and half of his face was ruined completely. The girl was taken into custody and was forced to undergo a medical examination. However, no signs of psychosis or any mental abnormalities were revealed. The girl is still in state of shock and claims that she didn't do anything. Neither does she have any explanation for her actions. Unbelievable. The doctors asked for more time to examine the girl's psyche and reveal if a shock-induced amnesia takes place.

Also, Wammy hasn't found one of his successors. Matt was discovered in Oxford today, but Mello is still missing from the orphanage, and none of the students have any idea of his whereabouts. Wammy's people already searched through every corner of five towns in which the boys should have been, but discovered nothing. On the one hand it's good that Mello can hide his trail so thoroughly, but on the other hand...

L frowns. On the other hand, there's a vague feeling of worry that roams and plays and twists somewhere inside his chest. He'd honestly prefer if all three of his successor runner-ups were in Wammy's and in safety right now. Though, is Wammy's still a safe zone? The second kill happened just within a week after Roger's murder.

The case of series of killings that his successors are investigating is also not to be forgotten. Though, from the look of it, the whole case is a dead end. There are no leads, no subject to minute scrutiny. Except for the sign that places of killing form on the map. This sign – '1' – is so evident and glaring. The killer left it, having a purpose in his mind. The case L's successors are trying to investigate is not a whole piece, it's just a small bit, only a tip of the iceberg. And the intriguing part of it, is that the killer obviously wanted L to watch him. The killer counted on L's interest, leaving the sign with the help of (for the lack of better word) mysterious murders. The killer wanted L to understand the sign, to notice him. And killer's method - stab the stomach, slit the throat - Roger was killed in that very way. It's a challenge. This murderer wants to get caught. "Go ahead and try," - that's what he strains to communicate.

L presses his thumb to his lower lip, massaging it gently and staring off in space. Killer's logic is understandable. But killer's motives remain a conundrum. It can't be something personal. L has no 'personal' in his work. But the sign and then Roger's death, which was certainly the work of the killer's hands, leave no place for doubts – the killer _does_ have personal interest in L. Or, to say it more correctly, it's killer's sore ego and unfulfilled ambitions speaking. What can serve as a better balm for soul's bruises, than a challenge for the one who's considered the best?

L smirks and bites at his thumb. 'Twins', mystery, self-conceit and audacity, eh? Rather foolish and ill-conceived actions. He can say with almost eighty nine percent accuracy that killer is now in Britain. More so, he will soon leave the Britain and will try to find L, using the information he got from Roger's database. The most important for now, however, is to catch the maniac _before_ he sets the third part of his plan into action. Because such people will never stop when they think it's impossible for them to get caught. And this killer obviously deems himself invincible.

L smirks once again and shakes his head slightly. He will need to be cautious, but he will find the killer.

"Are you done?" Light asks him suddenly, and L blinks, turning his head to look at the young man.

"Yes..?" there's a questioning note in L's voice, and Light sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

"Good. Then maybe you will tell me what it is, that you've been thinking over for the past week?"

Light looks at him in a rather daring manner, probing and pushing his luck. And it's not like L hides his work from Light. It's been a bit over a year since they started working together, and the need to share his thoughts about the case feels simply unusual. Light from the past wasn't very much concerned with L's work – he was more busy with his own studies in the university, then he was preoccupied with his nervous breakdown, then came the slow progression of his insanity and worries for his family... The problems grew like a snowball, till they formed an avalanche that eventually swept them both from their feet and nearly buried Light six feet under. Or maybe it did bury Light, allowing this new version of him to enter this world. And this new Light is much more tense and alarmed. Always watchful, as if he somehow expects something bad to happen. And this single fact makes him a pretty good companion to have when dealing with the cases, but also makes it harder for L to immerse in his thoughts and hope that it will go unnoticed to Light.

A small smile makes its way to L's lips. He lays his hand upon Light's and then opens his mouth, words fast and precise as he tells Light everything he knows about the current case: the murders, the victims, the unusual happenings in Wammy's House, and his own suspicions and guesses about all that.

"Interesting," Light murmurs when L ends his monologue. "You know what I find outstanding? The latest kill in the orphanage. It just doesn't blend in the rest of the picture."

"I noticed it too. But I am still uncertain, if the kill in the orphanage should even be related to the whole case."

"Is that so? That makes me think, if such tragedies took place in the orphanage before," Light casts a sideway glance at L. "Have there ever been any killings among the children in Wammy's House?"

Light turns his head to look at L. And the look on L's face makes him shiver internally. Right now L represents a precise copy of L from his past – eyes narrowed and cold, as he looks at the younger man.

"I'm asking this because I want to know, if Wammy allows students with mental disorders in the orphanage," Light adds quickly. "Maybe this killing does have nothing to do with the case, and was just an exacerbation of psychosis."

"I told you before," L says. "Don't you remember? You asked me to tell you something about my past. And please, be more attentive – I told you that the doctors didn't diagnose girl with any mental deviations."

Light blinks. Did that really happen? He doesn't remember L ever telling something about his... Oh. The dream, Light still remembers it. L did tell a short story of his past, and he did mention two killings. One that was committed by the boys from his 'family', and one that L committed himself.

"You killed the boy having a reason for it," Light says slowly. "This time a girl committed a murder having no purpose or pretext. That's different."

"I wonder what you really mean saying 'that's different'," L sighs. "Are you trying to justify my crime, or are you saying that murder for good is a whole different thing from trivial manslaughter?"

"Trying to switch the subject from you to me? Nice one," Light smiles that luscious sinister smile that he usually does when catching L on something - be that leaving hair in the bathtub, eating something crunchy in the bed, or trying to trick Light. This time it's the latter. But to L's surprise, Light doesn't persist on the matter and merely sighs. "Either way it has nothing to do with the current case."

"Perhaps you are right..." L mumbles. "My story and this story are different, but I still can't get rid of the feeling of something familiar, of some sort of connection between myself and the current turmoil."

For a minute Light stays silent, and then L feels his fingers being squeezed in Light's palm. L glances at the young man inquiringly.

"I have a favour to ask of you," Light says. "Could you please tell me more about that incident in your past?"

"What exactly do you want to know?" L's voice is almost listless as he speaks. "I already told you everything... When I was a child there was a man whom we called Bear. He was a teacher in the orphanage. For whatever reason he took a liking on me, and endured my company when I needed it. And I needed it a lot. I used to talk to him, he used to listen to me. Nothing aside from that. I was fascinated with him, probably just because he was the only one, who saw me as a child and treated me accordingly. You could say he was a father-figure to me, but that's not true. I deemed him a god. Couple of years later he was murdered. They stabbed him repeatedly and then slit his throat. It happened the day I was due to turn ten. I knew the killer. Nobody aside from me knew. He planned everything so that he wouldn't get caught. And people believed him because... he was destined to become my back-up, and he was a brilliant hypocrite. He was striking the last blows when I saw him near the corpse. He didn't notice me. And I told no one. I didn't want him to just sit couple of year in jail, I wanted him to suffer all the pain he brought to me. Foolish, isn't it? Years passed and my desire for vengeance only grew. We both hated each other. But his hatred had a sick underside to it. He copied and stalked me. That was his mistake. I knew his routine as well as I knew myself, and when I was fourteen, I took my chance and attacked him. Back then I was a rather weak kid, but he had a build much like my own. I stabbed him in the stomach with a knife and ran away. I was terrified by my own actions. Was I becoming just like him? Or was I merely acting on emotions? I didn't know. I didn't go out of my room until the ado abated. And then they told me that a boy had died. They said he was killed with a knife. I knew that I was at fault, but I didn't feel any guilt or regret. That's all what I can tell you, Raito."

"What was the name of that boy?" Light asks quietly.

"He had many names. One of them is already known to you."

"Hm?" Light's eyes widen before he frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Ryuzaki. When I read what you wrote about your memories, you mentioned the name 'Ryuzaki' a couple of times. That was one of his names."

"That's not surprising, if you think about it," Light muses. "This realm is a copy of my world. No wonder you and 'Ryuzaki' here also have something in common. I won't be surprised to know that L in my world knew someone named Ryuzaki as well."

"Yes, I believe you are right. Rue Ryuzaki was the name the leader of our 'family' gave to that boy."

"But what about other names? His real name for one?"

"He called himself B," L says in a flat voice.

"Like you call yourself L? I see the connection," Light smirks. "His real name probably starts with the letter 'B', too."

"Correct."

"Listen," Light says, suddenly tense. "Don't you see any similarities between things that happened in your past, and things that are happening now? The killer that wants your attention, just like the boy wanted you to notice him years ago. The way the killer murdered his victims – stabbed the stomach and slit the throat. The fact that all of this revolves around the orphanage you grew in. Don't you see that?"

L looks at him with such a bored and unimpressed face, that Light suddenly understands what Matsuda must have felt like when L looked at him.

"Firstly – there are millions of people who have sickeningly high opinion of themselves, and there are thousands of such people who are willing to bid defiance to those, whom they deem to be worthy. Secondly – stabbing and cutting are the usual ways of murdering a person. Numerous slashed wounds tell of the killer's inexperience and fear. If wounds are clean and precise, it means that we are dealing with the cold-hearted and experienced murderer. Thirdly – the fact that everything revolves around the orphanage is the sign that killer indeed knows about my origin, but the source of his knowledge remains unknown. Lastly – the boy I told you about, is dead. B is dead. And, for aught I know there's no man who managed to return from the dead."

Light watches L, and there's a feeling he can't quite force to go away - the feeling that L's merely being in denial and fear. But... L says that the boy is dead. That it's been fifteen years since the day he killed that boy. And even Ryuk once told Light these very words that L tells him now: "dead men rise up never."

"B is dead," L says firmly once again. "And what I need to do is to stop the murderer that plans something now."

"But how are you so sure they are planning something?"

L looks at him and then smiles. A creepy, repulsive smile that makes Light frown.

"Imagine yourself a wheel. A big, old wheel that has so many things and rubbish sticked to it, that you can barely tell it's still a wheel. But it whirls and turns. Slowly, but it does twirl. When the wheel makes a turn-around, some gets smashed under it, and some gets tossed up. But important is that you can predict the way it's going to move long before it will actually make a turn, just by hearing its creak. You will hear the creak and you will know... It's funny in some way."

"It is funny, indeed. And right now you do hear the creak, don't you?"

"Yes. The wheel is going to move. And it's moving towards me."

* * *

Matt presses his cell phone to his ear so hard, that the cartilages of his ear-shell start to hurt.

"The person you have called is unavailable right now. Please, try again later," automated voice tells him, and then loud, pesky signals follow.

"Where the hell are you?" Matt mumbles, hiding the cell phone back into the pocket of his jeans. Their summer break is almost over. Mere two days are left before the studies start again, and Matt's sure that Mello wouldn't want to miss lessons. If only just because Near won't miss them. So why doesn't Mello answer the call?

Matt flops onto the bench, slouching his back and frowning. The last days of summer are unbearably hot. Even the pigeons move lazily around his feet, barely forcing themselves to look for the bread crunches on the ground. Matt reclines against the back of the bench, throws his head back and inhales deeply. Street grime. Well, isn't it just fantastic? His stomach growls loudly, reminding him that he hasn't been eating normal food since the day he and Mello parted ways. Maybe it's time to actually spend his left money on something healthy...

Matt glances at the sign of a small family restaurant near which he is sitting. He doesn't have much money, but maybe 15 pounds will be enough to buy a dinner?

Green peas on the plate dries out, a carrot rissole slowly covers with a film of grease. What did he expect, ordering the cheapest meal possible? Matt's stomach grumbles resentfully. He wants to eat, but for some reason can't force himself to do that. A small tape recorder extorts half-choked words of some song: "...you have burned, I stayed alive. Flowers bloom on my delight. It was fire, and we burned..."

'_Stupidity'_ Matt thinks, chewing on the peas carefully. He's heard this song before, and for some reason it became popular. Even in Wammy's people just love it. The song lessens his appetite. Maybe just because he's used to eat while listening to bravura marches that are usually played during the lunch time in the dining hall in Wammy's. And those marches are played so loud, that everyone who wants to talk during the meal have to shout at each other. The meal time is probably the most interesting time in Wammy's House. Because it very much reminds Matt of a circus (in which he's never been) or maybe a theatre.

Take, for one, Malh's group. Black and white table. White shirts, black pants. Silent horror of eyes that examine other peoples' plates. Half of Malh's group are on a diet – everyone has their own – thus, the content of the plates is being watched very closely. They count the calories.

Next is Jamal's group. A riot of colors, bursts of madness and dirty words.

Also there are Babies. With their terrible bibs.

Death's group shows 'sincerity'. They make it seem as though there are only merry fellows and prank-lovers in their group. But, truth to be told, Matt wouldn't want to try most of their jokes and pranks on his own skin. And he also doesn't believe their loud laughter, but it's all trifles. They try their best, he'll give them that.

And all of the groups have their difficulties. Malhs are good. Jamals are evil. Both overdid with their image so that it became hard to get in touch with them. But they play their roles, Malhs do it better than Jamals, and Matt's own First group is too small for... so to say, full-fledged game.

And the game is not just an image – it's everything in Wammy's House. Because it's impossible to think that there can only be obedient bores in one group, and uncontrollable psychos in the other. It's impossible. And that in turn means that someone planned and intended it to be that way. Why? That's another question.

Probably, the representatives of the previous generation of Wammy's were utterly, insanely bored, and one day thought of a scenario of this game and vowed to follow it at all times. Since that day they started to live like this – pretending and adhering the script. Sometimes willingly, sometimes poorly, but they keep playing their roles, especially in the dining hall where there are so many spectators. There's also another rule in this game – the leader of a group should be pale and grim. Some say that the rule was established after L became the leader of the House. Anyhow it was in reality, but now the leaders have to use tons of powder and rarely take walks outside, just for sake of meeting the standards. The game has some sense in it. It creates spectators and participants, everyone snoops around and runs from camp to camp with their reports – so that people have something to talk about in the evening. Because it's interesting and not at all creepy, since everyone knows about the Game. Everyone, with the exception of Mello. For some reason Mello still believes in the sincerity of the acts and takes everything at its face value. And even dreams of taking over the Wammy's House with a crew of people like himself and Matt. Or maybe he pretends and plays his role as well.

Matt sighs, pinning the piece of the rissole on the fork. Games or not, but right now he wishes for something familiar around him, and would gladly listen to the marches that he usually hates to hear. Even more, he just wants to once again sit in the dining hall with Mello and simply chat away with him.

Song on the radio comes to its end. Matt finishes his dinner. And Mello still doesn't answer the calls.

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	8. L

**Ch. 8 L**

The meeting is being held in the classroom. There's a large sign, written on a whiteboard, that says: "Tolerance and mutual respect". Circus and asininity; only there's really nothing to laugh at, because the subject of the meeting does not imply the rude youth, but the recent murder.

Dar sits near the whiteboard, so that everyone can see the, so to say, hero of the discussion. Strange decision, since Dar is not guilty in anyway. But Nun was the member of Dar's family, and Dar herself, being the leader of a group, was responsible for what her supervised were doing. Without thinking twice, everyone made a scapegoat out of Dar.

To Dar's left sits Jean – the head of the curriculum department.

"Who wants to say something on the matter?" asks Jean.

Many want to. Almost everyone. For a start word is given to Ion. Probably just to get away with it as quickly as possible.

And as Ion speaks, it turns out that Nun was trying to get attention with her actions. And every person that tries to get attention, is a narcissist and generally bad individual who is capable of anything harmful, who fancies themselves while in reality being nothing but a shallow person. Jackdaw in peacock's feathers. Or something like that.

Then Ion reads some fable about the vanity. Next follow some verses about a donkey that got trapped in a lake and drowned because of its own stupidity. Then he wants to sing something on the same subject matter, but no one is listening to him anymore. Ion puffs out his cheeks and breaks off.

After Ion, the floor is given to Troika. He talks under his breath, his head bowed as if he reads the text from the table top, although there's nothing before him aside from scratched wood.

"What did Nun want to say with her actions? That she was capable of breaking the rules, it would seem. But in fact, it's not the truth. Through her actions she called for attention to the conditions we live in. I mean, she advertised the drawbacks we have in our society, thrusted them under our noses. With the help of the kill she accentuated that our shared society was far from ideal, and did it without regard to us and our opinion. In a sense, she mocked us... But important is that one of our dear friends was killed..."

He rambles and drones for a long time. His index finger slides up and down the bridge of his nose, the whites of his eyes rapidly become bloodshot. Near knows what Troika's going to say next – everything that's ought to be said in a situation like this. All words that come out of Troika's mouth are colorless, dry and flat, just like Troika himself.

Next is Malh. He speaks of the murder almost with the same words as Troika and Ion did before him, and what he says is just as boring. Most repulsive is, probably, the fact that all of them are smacking the incident. It's that sort of a thing they can talk about for hours, shuddering with horror, their eyes burning with excitement – just like the decrepit scandalmongers that discuss the murders or accidents, and drool in delight while doing that. Preppy boys and girls in clean shirts; serious and prepossessing. There are poison-rotten faces of old women under their masks.

Jamal stands from his seat and starts talking – loud and rapid flow of words. Near glances at him with slight interest, because he honestly didn't expect Jamal to participate in the discussion. But the things that Jamal says are just what one would expect from him to say. Jamal recalls all the bad things that both Nun and Minos ever did: Nun had a habit of ticking off the pages of books (even though she wasn't the only one who read them), Minos didn't pass his handkerchiefs to public fund (even though he wasn't the only one who had a nose), Nun was rude and loud, Minos spent too much time in the bathroom. And finally, Jamal ends his speech, saying that Nun was, quote: "A stinky cunt who spied on everyone, and Minos was just a douche. Serves them right."

Everyone gasps and Jean knocks with his pen against the table, reprimanding Jamal for usage of a foul language and insult of the memory of passed away Minos. A good point, since everyone seems to have forgotten the subject of the meeting. Students fall silent and glare at Dar, reproaching her silently, with dignity, despising her for being a bad leader.

"Do you want to say something, Dar?" Jean asks her.

"I can't even begin describing how miserable I feel right now. We lost Minos and Nun, and I can't bring myself to believe that it really was Nun who killed Minos. It just doesn't seem right. She couldn't do it, I've known her for ten years..."

Dar talks in a quiet voice, obviously ashamed and sad with the theme of the discussion. Near glances at the faces of his inmates – serious and condemning, as though they were the jury and Dar was a convict. What a folly this meeting is.

A boy in the back row catches Near's attention. Neil is the only one, who doesn't listen to Dar – his ears are plugged with earphones, and the look in his eyes is empty, as though he's somewhere very far from the classroom. But Neil is probably right in what he's doing. It's useless to sit here and listen to censure words and hollow excuses.

Near turns his gaze back to Dar. She's on the verge of tears now. Jean sighs and lays a comforting hand on Dar's shoulder, starting to speak. Something about love, friendship, tolerance, wisdom, justice and sorrow.

Near closes his eyes, wishing for the meeting to end soon. Tomorrow's going to be the first day of the new school year.

* * *

The night comes. It's one in the morning and almost all of the orphanage habitants are sleeping. The sky has long since darkened, and dull rain falls on the dried-out ground, finally pouring it with water.

Near lays in his bed, in a dark and rather cold bedroom. Luxuriantly grown ivy on the windows hides the scenery outside and lets almost no light into the room. There are pots and tubs with plants on the windowsill. In the center of the room stands a compact, stone-clad fireplace, and Near studies its dark silhouette, trying to will himself to fall asleep.

He glances at the two empty beds in the room. One of them stands on the opposite side of Near's own bed, pressed close to the wall, and the other fits in between of two beds, standing right in the middle. Matt usually sleeps on the middle bed, although he claims he hates it, since he falls out of bed in his sleep quite frequently.

Near's eyes scan the ironed pillow slips and neatly folded bedspreads. It's been exactly thirteen days since his roommates left the orphanage. It's more than enough time to examine the lead and make sure it's false. More so, in a week comes the day three of them should meet and discuss the case. And Near is positive that neither Mello, nor Matt have found any useful information. What a waste of time this competition is... It's obvious that this case is something they can't solve without freedom of actions, money and people. And neither of them have those means, they are still mere runner-ups and not real detectives.

The door of the bedroom flies open, and Near flinches with a start, turning his eyes to look at the guest. He scrunches his eyes, as the flashlight in the hand of the guest blinds him. From the look of it, it's Bishop who's stormed into the bedroom.

"What is it?" Near asks, sitting up on the bed.

"Dar..." Bishop says, voice trembling. "Dar is dead."

* * *

The corridor of the second floor has no windows and is long as the intestine. Windows decorate the walls only near the dining hall and in the lobby. The corridor takes start from a staircase, interrupts with a small lounge through which one gets into the dining room, and continues on to the second staircase. At the one end of the corridor is a dining hall. In front of the dining – staff room and computer office. Further – music classroom, math classroom, biology classroom, abandoned toilet, and a relaxation room in which Near sometimes loafs. This is a familiar territory, that ends with a lobby – dull room with windows that face the courtyard, two pairs of sofas, and a TV center in the left corner.

Near never dared to venture further. Somewhere here lays an invisible border that boys are not allowed to cross. But right now it doesn't matter, as he and Bishop run through the long corridor to reach another staircase that leads to girls' bedrooms on the third floor.

"I saw her. She was lying on the floor next to toilet room," Bishop says, panting while he runs. "I think she's dead. I didn't check, I ran to you straight away. I thought you'd be interested."

"Have you warned Jean? Or principal? Anyone?"

"No."

Near stops, breathing heavily and looking at just as breathless boy in front of him.

"Then go, warn Roger's deputy. Call the nurse, maybe there's still a chance to save her."

"Okay," Bishop nods eagerly, turns to run back downstairs but recollects suddenly. "Toilet room is fifth door to the right!"

"Thank you," Near mumbles, watching Bishop run away.

Bishop's tip turns out useless when Near finally reaches the third floor. A small crowd on the right side of the corridor tells everything he needs to know. Girls backs are turned to him, as he steps closer to look at the scene himself.

"Horrible..." one of the girls whispers.

"So cruel... How could he do that?"

"I never expected this... Hold him in place, Rey."

Carefully, Near walks around the small semi-circle of girls until he's able see Dar's body on the ground. Her eyes are still open and she looks more or less alive. But there is one thing that makes him certain that chances for Dar to live are close to none – there's a pen sticking out of Dar's right temple. Near frowns and crouches beside Dar, reaching with his fingers to her face.

"What are you doing?" one of the girls asks, watching Near as he places his palm close to the girl's nose.

He can't feel even the lightest of puffs on his skin. Near takes one more glance at the hole-like wound in girl's head, retreating his hand. Blood doesn't spill out of it anymore. There's no doubt that Dar is dead.

"It's Neil," some girl tells him, and Near turns his head to look at her. Rey, that's the girl's name. The look in her eyes is strained, and she kneels on the floor, holding Neil in the grip of her hands tightly. "Neil killed her."

"Did you witness it?" Near asks in a steady voice, examining the boy in Rey's arms. He looks exhausted and doesn't make any moves to try and break free.

"No. But I was first to find them both here. Dar was laying on the ground and Neil was crouching beside her body. He'd already pierced her temple with that," Rey nods, pointing at the small object in Dar's head. "I screamed and Bishop heard me. He rushed here from the second floor but ran away as soon as he saw the body. What... what shall we do now?"

Near doesn't answer, looking at Neil's pale face and empty eyes. Second kill among the students. The correct question is: what's going on?..

* * *

It's been a week and a half of Matt's attempts to find Mello. The school year's began three days ago and Matt just knows that even Roger's death won't save him from getting a severe reprimand and warning. Because he has no other choice but to call up to Wammy's and ask to take him back.

An empty pack of cigarettes crunches as Matt squeezes it in his fist. A strange feeling of apprehension washes over him the more he thinks about Mello. It's nonsense, of course. Mello's probably already returned to Wammy's House, and now sits on the lesson, thinking over the case.

Matt glances at the laptop he has opened on the floor. The abandoned building's become his home for the past week, but it seems the time has come to bid his goodbye to it. He can no longer live like this, just because he's completely out of money. But he needs to be sure that Mello is indeed safe and sound.

He frowns, throwing the rumpled pack of cigarettes into the corner of big room. Looking at the plain white background of his laptop, Matt feels almost unwilling to press certain buttons and dial the one, who knows for certain if Mello is in Wammy's. Why give Near another chance to puff up with pride? After two minutes of heated internal argument with himself, Matt makes a face at his own reflection he sees in the laptop's darkened screen, puts on his headphones, and finally lays his fingers onto the keyboard.

It doesn't take long for Near to answer. And judging by the look of it, Near is using his cellphone as the means of connection. Now, that is definitely out of ordinary – isn't Near mad about secrecy?

Matt screws his eyes up, trying to discern what is happening on the screen. The surroundings kind of remind of their shared bedroom, but the room is so dark that Matt barely recognizes a thing.

"Near?" Matt calls to the other boy, sounding uncertain. He can't see Near's face. Just darkness. "Do you hear me?"

"Matt?" voice whispers, and next second Matt has to wince at the loud noise and some obscure crackles. The image on his laptop screen shifts and Matt finally sees his inmate's face. Round and pale.

"Are you busy with something? I won't take long, just tell me, is Mello at Wammy's?" Matt sighs, kneading his fingers through his dirty hair.

"No."

"Oh..." Matt mutters, feeling perplexed. "Alright... That's all I wanted to know."

"Matt," Near says in a rather loud voice and Matt blinks, looking at the other boy's face. "Are you going to come back to the orphanage?"

"Yeah, I'm completely broke, so..."

"Don't."

"Why?" the anxiety that's been lurking deep inside Matt's chest, blooms fully. Near sounds strange, almost as if he's scared. And what on earth can make Near feel the fright?

"I don't know what's happening," Near whispers, leaning closer to the screen. "For the last five days we had seven murders here. They kill each other with no purpose or particular rage. It just... happens."

Near rambles at a fast pace, slurring the words so that Matt can barely understand him.

"Wait, what are you even talking about? Students kill each other?"

"Yes," Near pauses and then continues in a more calm voice. "Not only students. Do you remember miss Stein, the nursemaid? She killed a five-year-old girl this morning. I don't know what's going on, Matt. It seems as if everyone has gone crazy."

"That... hardly seems believable."

"Two hours ago Roger's deputy left the orphanage. He got scared because of all the killings, and right now we are left without the head."

"Unbelievable..." Matt murmurs, looking at Near with the same wide eyes.

"Matt... Where you at right now?"

"In Oxford. Well, not in the town itself, I'm somewhere near the outskirt."

"Can I join you?"

"Are you seriously going to leave the orphanage?" Matt asks, staring at Near with disbelief.

"Yes. It's dangerous to stay here," Near mutters. "Meet me at the train station. I'll let you know when I'm on the train."

"Wait," Matt adds hurriedly, seeing that Near's ready to hang up. "Look underneath Mello's bed. There's a part of plinth that comes off easily, find it and take the gun that's hidden there. It's mine. There are no cartridges in it, but it might help to scare off someone if they decide to attack you."

"Thank you," Near says and then smiles a small smile at Matt. "Wait for my signal."

"Got it."

Near nods and vanishes from the screen. For a long minute Matt stares at his laptop. He really couldn't care less about Roger's deputy's flight. But Near's words _"I don't know what's going on"_ - he doesn't particularly like them. It feels as though right now they are in the epicenter of events they have very vague (if no at all) idea about, and this fact Matt doesn't like either.

"Peaceful life's come to its end," Matt mutters under his breath and smirks. As if the life has ever been peaceful for him.

* * *

L stares at Wammy's wrinkled face. The old man stands before him, head bowed. L's cold eyes skim across geezer's trembling hands. The hands are old, skin hangs loosely on them, covered with ginger pigment patches, web of thin veins and wrinkles. After few more months it will become simply unethical to keep Wammy as his helper.

"What should I do?" the almost-whisper falls from the old man's dry lips, as he looks at L.

Wammy's eyes look terrible, just like his hands. It's been so long since L last looked into the old man's eyes this closely. Crackled ice on two clear puddles. Colorless and almost blind.

"What do you deem necessary?" L asks quietly.

"I don't know... L, it's not right. Why is it happening?.."

It hurts to hear Wammy so crushed. And it hurts even more to look at him and understand that this man relays on him with every bit of hope he has.

"Go to England," another voice clings in. It sounds misplaced with its force and confidence. L glances at the young man, who stands just a step away from L's spot on the chair. Light has his hands crossed on his chest and he looks straight at Wammy. "You are the head of the orphanage. You should be there during the hard times. Organize the funeral for the killed, reinforce security, limit the access to the outside world, any information should be checked by yourself firsthand - we don't know what makes people kill each other, it may be some influence of the media. Hire more workers; every person in the orphanage should be exposed to a medical inspection. Don't let children walk alone, any movement should be allowed only in small groups under the surveillance of adults."

Light turns to look at L, his gaze unusually cold.

"This is what should be done first, don't you agree with me?"

"Yes," L nods after few seconds of reflection and then turns his head to look at the old man once again. "Right now you should be there, not with me."

"L," Wammy says in raspy voice. "Are you sure of your decision?"

"I have no doubts," he says, and Light takes a slightly worried glance at L. No doubts, or rather no choice?

"My people found Matt," Wammy says, looking at L with weak-sighted eyes. "But we still can't trace Mello. Also, I've been told that Near ran away from the orphanage this afternoon."

"Please, try to find all three of them," L tells softly.

"Once I found them, should I lead them back to the orphanage?"

"No. If you would, I would like you please to sent them here."

Both Wammy and Light gape at him.

"Of course," Wammy says after a while.

"Goodbye then. And good luck."

"Good luck to you," the old man nods couple of times before turning his back to both of the men in the room.

"Why do you want those children to live with us?" Light asks in an undertone, still looking at the door behind which Wammy disappeared.

"They are not quite children," L mutters. "And I want them to stay safe. Besides, they might help with the case. They do need some practice, don't they?"

"But why with us? Can't they practice from the distance?"

"Are you scared to meet them?" L asks, turning in his seat to glance curiously at Light's face.

The young man looks slightly dumbfounded and anxious about the prospect of living with three of L's successors for the next... month? Two? Three?

"No, I am not scared. Just a little perplexed. Do you even know them that well?"

"No. But I shall get to know them."

"Do they know you?" Light asks, frowning.

"Well, I talked to them couple of times, but it was via the internet. And they didn't see my face," L shrugs, and Light presses the palm of his hand to his face.

"I see," he mutters and glances at L. His hair's grown a bit too long and now it hides his neck completely and even falls down messily onto his shoulders. Reaching out with his hand, Light takes a stands of L's hair in between his fingers and examines it before saying:

"You have to get your hair done."

"Later," L waves him off and Light sighs, casting a displeased glance at L's head once again.

* * *

At about two o'clock Near sends Matt a message, telling he's just got on the train. Good to know, seeing that it's been about an hour since Matt left his ruins of a shelter and shuffled through the whole town back to the train station.

Matt looks down at his feet – the boots don't seem black anymore - grey, with few stains of some white substance and thick layer of dry mud that decorates the rims of soles. Matt sighs and opens his bag, fumbling in it in vain attempts to find some sort of a napkin or maybe his handkerchief. The handkerchief should be with him, right? Matt groans quietly upon remembering that their group had to take all of their linen into the laundry just a day before he and Mello ran from the orphanage. Matt takes one more look at his boots. Well, he can just as well leave them like this. They seem to complete the horrible look he represents now – greasy hair, dirty clothes and these mud-covered boots. He wonders what will Near say when they meet. Probably another of his stupid catty remark. But what's more important is that with Near's help he will be able to find Mello, and together they might stand a chance to disentangle this web of intrigue in which three of them got bogged down in.

More and more people gather on the platform, waiting for the arrival of their friends or relatives. Matt sits on his bench, few feet away from the crowd, looking at them through the bangs of his hair. The train should arrive soon. And indeed, ten minutes later Matt hears clop and distinctive clatter that approach the station rapidly, along with the train.

With the final loud heavy clash, the train stops and its doors open, letting out a batch of people that carry bags and cases in their hands. It's not hard to pinpoint Near in the crowd. His white hair falls and covers his eyes with every gush of wind, and Near looks around with slightly lost expression.

Matt waits for the crowd to disperse and only then stands to walk up to the shorter boy. He knows that Near saw him, but it was obvious that he didn't want to talk while there were too many people around.

"Everything's alright?" Matt asks the albino, standing before him, hands ducked deep into the pockets of his jeans.

"You could say so," Near replies in undertone and glances at Matt. "I took your and Mello's clothes with me, seeing that you flew without making preparations. But you lost Mello, didn't you?"

"Umm... Yeah, you see, we..." Matt breaks off, noticing the expression on Near's face as the boy stares behind Matt's back. "What is it?"

Near doesn't answer and merely shakes his head curtly, turning his back to Matt and starting to walk off of the platform. And it's in this very second, that Matt understands that lady Luck has turned her rear to them.

As soon as Matt catches up with him, Near says quietly:

"You are being watched."

"So what?" Matt shrugs. "It's not like I have pockets full of cash."

"No, they don't look like pick-pockets. They remind me of..."

Two strapping men block their way, rendering Near speechless. They seem quite intimidating, as they look at the two boys as though they are estimating something. _'Oh well,'_ Matt thinks,_ 'turns out lady Luck has male's rear.'_ Finally one of the man steps forward, and says in a smooth baritone:

"Mail Jeevas and Nate River, I suppose? Please, follow us."

"Why?" Near asks in a level tone.

"It's the order," man tells him quietly.

"And who ordered you this?" Matt asks, first taking a worried glance at Near and then turning his eyes at the two men again.

"L."

* * *

Men escort them to some car, that stands parked on the terminal station's parking lot. They look much like bodyguards, with them being dressed in suits and obviously hiding arms under their jackets. It's not just two men in Matt's and Near's escort. There are ten of them, or at least Near's counted ten while they were walking towards the car. It's almost scary to think that L himself ordered for their arrival.

The men stay grimly silent all the time they spend in the car. It's not hard to guess where they are heading to – London, and more precisely Heathrow airport.

Near glances at Matt. The red-haired teen looks rather indifferent to what's happening around him, staring at his gaming console and pressing the buttons on it furiously. Matt is just as worried and flabbergasted as Near is. And probably Matt's worry is even bigger, since they left Oxford without Mello. But maybe L's people have already found the boy and sent him to L? Near knows it's too good to be truth.

But didn't he worry both Matt and Mello? He asked them to be cautious, but of course Mello had to make everything his own way. And this is the result of his rash actions.

They pass High Wycombe when Near notices lack of sounds coming from Matt. He glances at his friend to find him with closed eyes and even breath. For a long minute Near studies Matt's grease-covered hair, dusty skin, crepe lines underneath his fingernails, dirty jeans and simply horrifying boots. It must have been hard for him to survive through a bit more than a week, trying the wild conditions of a hobo on himself. And it's obvious that Matt didn't return to the Wammy's because of his desire to find Mello and go back with him.

Near glances away from Matt onto his own clean, white garment and pale spotless skin. Despite the hunger and lack of comfortable living conditions, Matt is lucky... He didn't see the murders and corpses Near had to witness.

After a whole hour, the car finally stops, and 'bodyguards' drag both boys into the airport, guiding their way through numerous corridors, passages and halls. Matt feels strangely worn out and exhausted. He hates the buzz and constant scraps of conversations that surround him, hates this loud voice of a woman that announces something every five minutes. Matt glares at the jacket-clad back of one man from their escort so angrily, as if he wishes to burn a hole in this back with his eyes. What the fuck is going on, really? Mello and him flew away from the orphanage in attempt to find some clues. A whole week of their summer break they spent 'traveling' around the towns and scaring old women with their appearance. They did have an argument. And so what? It's not like it was their first quarrel. But after that, everything just went downhill. He spent a night with some girl he didn't know, Mello wasn't answering the phone, he ran low on money, food and cigarettes, Roger died. And if that wasn't enough, Near suddenly proclaimed the Wammy's House a dangerous place and escaped from it, only to get himself and Matt caught in the clutches of some men that said L had ordered for their arrival. The hell?!

His question stays unanswered, though, and Matt has to drag himself after the pack of men into the plane. Just before the plane takes off, Matt dials Mello's number yet again, just to check... Near stares at him creepily and Matt raises his eyebrows in silent question: "What?"

The white-haired boy shakes his head mutely, and Matt squeezes his phone in his fingers upon hearing short beeps for the umpteenth time. The worry makes his heart drop into the cold pit of his stomach, and Matt sighs bitterly. _Pick up the phone, for god's sake.._

The man that's been the only one who talked to him and Near, lays the palm of his hand onto Matt's shoulder, making the boy turn his eyes at that hand. Crude and big, almost the size of Matt's own head.

"Here," the man says quietly, handing both Matt and Near some papers with a neatly typed text on them. "Fill these in."

Matt nods, eyes skimming through the text. It's a timeline that starts from 20th of July and ends with the current date of 16th of August. And what they need to do, is to write happenings they find crucial that occurred during that period of time and point the exact day they happened.

Matt and Near exchange silent glances and take the pens in their hands. Matt frowns, reliving the last two and a half weeks. He casts a surreptitious glance at Near who already scribbles something on his sheet. Well, it all started with the Night of Stories for three of them...

* * *

The house is situated in the downtown. In a place where city's skyscrapers and modern buildings surround it from each side. All houses here are big and spacious, with their intricate facades screaming of wealth and meticulous design. A district of the high society, it seems. To the east of the area there are high-rise buildings, to the west – panoramic view of Pacific ocean.

In the neutral territory between the two worlds – ocean and business center – is this residential neighborhood, and this house. The house represents a long building, with white metal sheets faced walls, and a single tall opaque window. It looks absurdly, like a giant shoe box on some sort of tall beveled concrete props.

Two adolescents appear before the house on a hot August day, in the hour when there are no shadows in which to hide in. The street is deserted – sun has burned it out. And the stunted trees along the roadway don't save the two boys from the scorching heat, just like the walls of the houses that melt in a bright blue sky, don't shelter them from the hot sun. The asphalt sags down under their steps. They walk in a slow pace. One of the boys does it because of fatigue. Other – constrained with the weight of his bags. Matt and Near walk reluctantly, stumbling in their steps and shielding their eyes so that they see only gray, smooth asphalt under their feet.

Something beeps and vibrates in the pocket of Matt's jeans, and he drags out his cell phone. A message.

"This is it," Matt mutters to Near, stopping in his tracks. The white-haired boy turns to glance at him, and then casts his gaze onto the ridiculous building in front of them.

Matt glances up, too, only to see simple white surface of the walls.

"Isn't someone gonna meet us?" he mumbles, walking along the building's panelling.

"Let's find the entrance," Near replies in a dry voice.

They spend five minutes walking around the big construction in attempt to find the door. It's not really hidden, but they haven't noticed it from the first glance – a rather small transparent glass door, through which they can clearly see the metal stairs – it's placed on a wall of a very narrow, small annex under the main building, right beside one of the props.

Near looks at Matt with questioning eyes, and the red-head takes a deep breath before pushing the door open. Blissfully cool air engulfs them as soon as two boys step inside. It feels pleasant and welcome on their heated skin, and Matt lets out a sigh, straightening his back.

Their steps are loud on the metal stair, and Matt glances down at his feet, feeling slightly guilty. Everything is so white and clean, almost sterile here, that he can feel the dirt on his clothes and skin.

The stairs end with another door, this time big and metal. Matt pushes it, but the door stays unyielding.

"Why, of course," he mumbles and crouches to get a better look of a lock. "Must be a fingerprint scanner somewhere here..."

And indeed, there's a smooth glass panel under the heavy lock. Matt presses his finger to it, watching the dim blue light that appears under his touch. After a few seconds blue light turns red, and the scanner emits two beeps.

Matt gives Near a confused look, but the albino looks just as perplexed as Matt. Near presses his own finger to the scanner, but the access stays denied for him as well.

"Are you sure they meant this house?" Near asks. Saying 'they' he means the men that escorted them from Oxford to this place in Tokyo.

"Yes. They watched us, didn't they?" Matt says, scratching the back of his head. "Besides, the front door was open."

Just after Matt utters the last word, the door beeps and a tiny green light appears on the lock. Both boys exchange glances, but before they have a chance to touch the handle, the door opens, presenting a young man. Few long moments they spend, studying each other's faces.

_'No way he's L,'_ Matt thinks, looking at the slightly tan skin, neatly styled hair and ironed clothes of the stranger. _'Too upright.'_

Meanwhile, the young man steps aside and makes a welcoming gesture before turning his back to them and saying:

"Follow me."

Matt can't help but notice a small frown and slightly displeased expression that appeared on his face just before the young man's turned his back to them.

While they walk through the house, Matt glances at Near. The white-haired boy wears a poker face, looking at the stranger's back, seemingly not paying attention to the surroundings. And surroundings are something worth of attention because of their weirdness. Rooms and corridors through which they pass, are strange because they are normal – wooden floor, white walls, sofas, armchairs, coffee tables and paintings. Matt notices that despite of single window that faces the street, the house is brightly lit due to few atriums and the windows on a ceiling. Quite impressive but almost minimalistic design inside of this 'shoe box'.

Finally, the man whom they've been following, halts behind one of the doors. He turns to the two boys as though he's just remembered something.

"Prepare the papers you were given. You did fill them in, I hope?"

Matt and Near silently nod, rummaging through the bags they have on their shoulders, and then present two quite rumpled sheets of paper. They young man quirks his eyebrow rather sceptically, but turns his back to them once again, knocks on the door and then opens it, stepping inside of the chamber. Matt peeks his head through the open door, examining surroundings: a bright room with four computers on top of a very long desk, few chairs, a TV on the wall right above the desk, a small sofa in the corner, and two bookshelves, filled with folders, that row the right wall. The escorting young man walks confidently to the desk, and leans to it, gesturing for the both boys to come in.

Near and Matt slowly step into the room, walking up to the big leather office chair that draws their immediate attention. Its back is high and turned to them, so that they can't see the person that occupies the chair, but it's not hard to tell that the chair is most certainly occupied.

They walk and walk until their steps come to a halt, right behind the big chair.

"High time it is," says a soft voice. Then a white, bony, long-fingered hand extends to them from behind the chair's back, and freezes in the air, waiting for something.

Matt watches the hand, fascinated. Besides it having abnormally long and flexible fingers that appear to bend in directions that normal fingers wouldn't bend unless they were broken, the hand also seems unpleasantly animated. It turns and 'looks' alternately at Near and then at Matt, runs its fingers impatiently, and all but doesn't sniff them both.

Matt reaches out his own hand carefully, holding his sheet of paper in it. The hand stops, wiggles her middle finger, and then grabs the paper from Matt's grasp quickly. Matt flinches and hurriedly snatches Near's paper, to pass it to the hand as well. Because all of a sudden he's got a not particularly good feeling that won't he do that, the predatory hand would turn and clutch at his neck with a deadly force.

The escorting young man observes the exchange with some obscure smirk on his lips. A long minute passes in silence and then the chair turns slowly to them, presenting a man that sits crouched in the leather nest. Matt's heart makes a short stop and falls somewhere into the pit of his stomach, as he looks at the legend of their orphanage. Black hair cover the chalk-white face like a curtain. Dark eyes shimmer through the wild strands of what's supposed to be a fringe. L still looks at the two papers he holds in between his fingers, and appears to be completely at ease.

_'Definitely the leader of the Wammy's House,'_ Matt thinks with some rapturous horror, gaping at L with all eyes.

"I am L," the man introduces himself, casting his eyes aside with a bored expression on his face. "Nice to meet you."


	9. Links

**Ch. 9 Links**

At night Matt doesn't want to fall asleep. So many thoughts, so many impressions... He lays on the cool white sheets in a bedroom he's got to share with Near, and tries to fight off the slumber. The room is dark and he can hear Near's even breathing – he must have fallen asleep already. This house is a heaven for one who spent a week without proper living conditions.

After introducing himself, L sent them away, telling to have a little rest. They showered, changed clothes, and sat down to dinner: baked salmon and potato croquettes. Neither Matt, nor Near wanted to talk to each other during the meal time (that they spent alone), being too exhausted with the nonstop flight and shock from latest happenings. And so, right after the dinner, the young man whose name turned out to be Light, showed them their bedroom and left immediately. Matt could only assume that he was L's spokesman or maybe just a helper. Whatever.

Matt sighs, feeling anxious, and turns his pillow to the cooler side. He shouldn't sleep. He should stand up right now and go to L, tell him that Mello disappeared and they_ need _to find him. He must find Mello and bring him here. He must...

Sleep heaps up on Matt, sticks round his mind with viscid lumps of cotton wool that hinder his thoughts, and soon Matt, unbeknown to himself, falls into a dream. A heavy, bad dream where a man with two golden artificial teeth and face covered in scars, calls him a "little bastard", beats him for each and every of his faults, and promises to feed Matt to his pitbulls, of which he has four. Four big, snub-nosed, rabid dogs in a cage. Matt's duty is to feed them and clean after them. And he hates those dogs just as much as he hates their common master, and dogs, seemingly, reciprocate his vehement feelings. Matt is seven year old yet again, he is helpless, lonely, and he knows he won't be saved. That man teaches him to drink beer and smoke. Smoke, because he knows Matt will throw up after half of one cigarette. Beer, because there's never any water in a bloody pickup they live in...

He wakes up abruptly, as if he were slapped across the face, and jumps out of the bed, his back wet from the old nightmare.

"Awake already?" Near drones, looking at Matt from his spot on his bed.

Matt glances at the boy, nods his head and turns his eyes to the bed that still retains the imprint of his body. There's a wet spot on a pillow on which Matt's head's been resting upon just few seconds ago. He picks up the blanket and wipes the sweat off his forehead with it. His bones ache as though someone's been jumping on his body while he was asleep.

"You were screaming in your sleep. You were also talking. Quite terrible things you said."

Matt scratches his eyebrow, looking at Near.

"Never mind. I guess stress does that to me."

"Who is that man? Does he even exist?" Near watches him with unblinking stare.

"Maybe. If he hasn't been finished off yet. Let's not talk about that."

Near nods silently and crawls out of under his blanket. Pale feet dangle above the floor for a few seconds before Near steps on it.

"Seeing that both you and I are unwilling to get a good night rest, we might as well join L in the investigation," he says, padding over the door.

* * *

The room is dimly lit with a ghastly blueish light from computer monitors and only single lamp on a table is on, casting a bright spot on the tabletop where two sheets of paper lay.

"This is peculiar," Light murmurs, his eyes once again skim through scribbles. L glances at him, picking at the piece of cake. "One of your successors has gone missing. Judging by the dates, it happened somewhere between 8th and 13th of August. The question is, did he do it willingly, or was he kidnapped?"

"I am positive that Mello didn't disappear on his own will," L says, frowning. "Let's assume that he was indeed kidnapped."

"The killer that left a sign for you was active in that area during that time, wasn't he? Could it be that it was him who identified Mello somehow?"

"It might be so..." L answers quietly, closing his eyes for a moment. "It's most probably a correct guess. Matt and Mello left the orphanage on 30th of July. During a week they inspected the crime scenes, and on the 8th of August they parted their ways. On the 9th of August a kill occurred in Wammy's House – Roger was killed and his killer entered the database. Matt claims that he started to look for Mello the very next day after they parted. Mello wasn't answering the phone, but it doesn't mean he was unable to. However, right after Roger's kill I asked Wammy to search for both Matt and Mello. They found Matt in Oxford on 12th of August and started watching over him, but Mello was still nowhere to be found."

"Shouldn't you send people to inspect every hotel in Oxford? We might find the place he was seen at last time." Light mumbles, checking with the dates on papers once again. "I noticed they both began with some Night of stories. Do you know what that can be?"

"Actually, back in my childhood days we had many Nights... Night of monologues, Night of dreams, the longest Night, even the Night of yellow water... When I lived in orphanage, I used to play with children, and Night of stories was nothing but a game. I couldn't imagine it would become a tradition, not to mention they would change the guise of the Night," L sighs. "As for Mello, I've already took measures you're talking about. My people found that motel in Oxford he stayed in. The reception man said the last time he saw Mello was at 11 p.m on 10th August," L says, nibbing at his thumb. "I suppose we can assume that Roger's killer and Mello's kidnapper is the same person. He murdered Roger on 9th of August and he could easily travel to Oxford and find Mello there the next day."

"And he learned about your successors with the help of the information in database, huh? It's a simple, yet brilliant move... The killer learned about the case boys have been investigating, figured out their location, found Mello at a crime scene, and then simply waited for the right time to kidnap him," Light arches his eyebrow. "It seems that another of those boys even managed to identify the killer."

"Yes. That man whom Near talked to, told him everything that was unbeknown even to me. B is alive."

"I find it strange that you didn't know he was still among the living," Light remarks.

"How was I supposed to know?" L asks, looking at Light with wide eyes. "You heard me last time – I stabbed him and the next morning they found a dead body. I was certain it was B..."

"Turns out he tricked you. But that explains why he's so assertive with his desire for you to acknowledge him."

L stays silent, looking at the plate that has ruins of a cake on it.

"That makes our search easier..." Light tells him quietly. "After he ran away from the orphanage, he had to move on somehow, didn't he? We can dig up his past. He obviously wants it."

"B was cunning as a child. There's probably no clues left in his past."

"There is no person without a past. Even you have a past that's known to other people. There must be some information left."

"But what will that give us?" L sighs, rolling his eyes upwards. "Do you honestly believe that we will get to know something actually useful?"

"Don't be such a pessimist," Light tells him. "First we need to find your successor. Dead or alive."

"I'm fairly sure that Mello is alive, and will stay alive for quite some time. B wants to use him as a bait for me. Probably when we find Mello, we will get some clue along with him."

"Aside from Mello's abduction there's another problem. And it requires immediate attention," Light says, typing something on a keyboard. "I am surprised no one hasn't alarmed you yet."

"Spontaneous killings, yes. Much like that fever that's enveloped Wammy's House."

"It spreads around the world," Light says, gesturing to some diagram on his monitor. "More than three hundred people were murdered around the world only today. And if you look closer, such killings started to happen since the 1st of August. I remember reading an article about some hostess on the radio who had killed her colleague but couldn't tell what was the motive. Since that day everything's just been scaling up."

"It doesn't mean that murder was first in this series of killings. There probably already were quite many victims," L says. "That kill gained attention because of the fame of the offender."

"I'm afraid that number of murders will only grow with time. The source of the madness should be determined and removed as quickly as possible."

"Killers say they underwent some stress before a mist engulfed their minds, blinding them with a desire to kill," L says, munching on a spoonful of cake. "That girl who killed a boy in Wammy's House, she says that she was upset with the loss of her team in a croquet match. She claims she doesn't remember anything afterwards."

"That makes me think... Do you recall recent shooting? We watched a news program couple of days ago, there was a reportage about a young man who shot at the passers-by and murdered a boy. He says he broke up with his fiancee that day, and swore he didn't mean to kill anyone, he doesn't even remember going outside with a gun. And every other murderer says the same thing," Light sighs, reclining in his chair. "This reminds me of a spiral – the closer we get to the center, the faster becomes the movement, the greater becomes the entropy."

"It seems like something influence people to kill," L mutters. "You are right comparing the happenings to the spiral. It's almost like some kind of hypnosis that affects people minds."

"Mello," a weak voice suddenly interferes the conversation.

Both L and Light turn in their seats to look at Matt and Near who stand on the threshold. Both boys are dressed in pajamas and look like they just got out of the bed.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" L asks softly, switching to English. "Tomorrow you will help us to find Mello, but you should have a rest now."

"No," Matt says, taking a step into the room. Near minces along with him. "The night we escaped from the orphanage Mello made a guess, saying that the killer used hypnosis to affect sanity..."

"The killing contagion is the result of a third step."

Near says that, curling a strand of his hair around his finger. The boy seems to ponder over something for few moments before continuing.

"The logic is clear. This insanity is the next move of the killer... As I thought, the murders in towns were just a beginning. Everything he does is targeted on getting L's attention: he left a mark on the map, he killed Roger. And now he plants the seeds of panic all around the world, that will in turn irrefutably evoke a response from L."

"This makes sense," Light frowns and turns to look at L. "I remember you saying that the culprit wouldn't stop on just five victims. The mass epidemic of killings is most probably the result of his doings."

"Yes..." L says softly. "What we need to do now, is to detect the source of the madness. It should be something obvious, something that lays on the surface yet doesn't raise any suspicions. I assume that the source can be related to mass media - it's the one way to spread influence around the world without gaining unwanted attention."

"But what about Mello?" Matt asks in a worried voice as soon as L utters last word. "He can be in a serious danger right now. We need to find him first!"

"Of course we will immediately start the search," Light begins in placating tone, "We have enough information to actually find him in a matter of week."

"A whole week..." Matt whispers, his eyes betraying the worry he feels.

"It will take less than that," L says in a low voice. "I've already sent people to search through Oxford and every town nearby. I doubt B was willing to hide Mello too thoroughly."

"I also persist in checking police database archives," Light tells, opening a map of England on his computer screen. "More precisely, we should look for minor criminals that were arrested or got on the books about fifteen years ago in around this area." Light wiggles the mouse, contouring a circle around Winchester.

"I can do that," Matt raises his hand.

L stays silent, watching Light intently. He doesn't say a word against Light's course of actions, but it's obvious he doesn't approve of them either.

"I know you don't agree with me," Light says quietly. "But it won't do harm to try, will it? If we find records of B ever getting under police scrutiny, it will help us greatly. He wants you to search for him. You said the very same thing to me earlier. That's why I deem it necessary to look into his past in order to find some clues there. Mello was kidnapped as a bait, but we still need to save him. And I am more than certain that we shall find a lead to your lost successor, if we dig up the past. We need to save the boy first."

A long minute of silence follows Light's words. Finally, L shifts in his seat and shrugs slightly:

"Do whatever you think is suitable. I suppose Matt is willing to help you?" L squints his eyes to glance at the red-head.

"Yeah... I can help."

"Good. Then start," L nods, pointing towards computers.

"What will you do?" Light asks him, frowning slightly.

"Me and Near will proceed investigating the killings epidemic. We will closely inspect cases to detect any possible triggers of murderer's... sanity turmoil."

Near glances at L before taking a seat next to him. Light shakes his head, then turns his eyes to look at Matt who appears to be a bit confused.

"Let's start, shall we?" Light asks and smiles, pointing at the seat next to himself.

"Yes," Matt forces out a smile, clenching his hands in fists. Before lowering himself on a chair, he takes a surreptitious glance at Light only to notice him staring at L for a bit too long. It doesn't matter if he works with L or Light. What matters, however, is that Light wants to find and return Mello home. And that is the determinant.

* * *

Few days of living at the new place is enough to understand just how greatly life here differs from life in the Wammy's. In L's headquarters/house there are no starched napkins, white towels with initials, mugs with numbers on them, children, and strict daily routine. Lights and computers here work constantly, almost in non-stop mode. At any time of night someone talks, reads, drinks coffee or tea, takes a shower, cooks or eats, or simply roams around the house. After the orphanage's lights-out at ten in the night, such a regime is, to put it mildly, unusual, but both Matt and Near try their hardest to adapt. Life here truly worth any suffering. Here everyone does whatever and whenever they want. There are no any caregivers, and it almost feels like L lives in some kind of a fairytale. Well, maybe not L himself, seeing that he is constantly busy with staring at his computer screen, but Light appears to be completely fine with everything. He even allows Matt to do what Matt wants to do, and all in all treats him like a colleague rather than a subordinate. Not to mention that Light also hangs out with him quite a lot.

During these three days Matt's learned how to:

- play poker;

- speak with japanese accent;

- sleep sitting up;

- eat at nighttime;

- bake potatoes;

- smoke more than three cigarettes a day;

- guess current time.

However, there are things that Matt hasn't learned yet. He still needs to learn how to:

- brew black coffee without spilling everything on a stove;

- not forget the reason he's here;

- not ask superfluous questions.

Matt wonders what time it is now. Probably about four in morning. Or is it half past four? He lays on the floor in his and Near's shared bedroom, laptop in front of him. Right now he's in the process of revising and checking police archives of 1998 year. During two days since they've started the investigation, he and Light already examined records of 1996 and 1997 years. This work's become quite a boring routine. Matt hacks computer systems, searches for minor crimes, then Light check everything in the list and decides if Matt found what they need. For now they are not particularly successful, mainly because they've been distracting themselves from work every now and then. It won't do good for Mello, if they continue procrastinate.

Light sits on one of the beds, laptop on his laps. He's typing something, probably he's cracking police archives of 1999 year. L and Near are in the investigation room. It seems they've never left it, once they entered it last time, two days ago.

The random clacking of the keyboard is boring. Matt sighs and stretches out on the floor, closing his eyes and trying to get his mind back in gear and running at a full speed.

When Matt reopens his eyes, he finds himself in a dark cage. The light is very dim, and something cracks repeatedly somewhere in the depth of the darkness. After few minutes, the crackles start to sound more clear, as if the object that emits those sounds, is coming closer. Matt stares into the dark, trying to discern anything. The cracks come even more closer. Sound is unpleasant and loud, and quite suddenly Matt feels frightened for his life. He takes a step back, only to bump into a solid stone wall behind. The crackling is unbearable now, and Matt scrunches his eyes shut, certain that something terrible is going to happen. Silence falls on him, even more terrifying with its lack of sounds. Carefully, Matt opens his eyes, only to see Mello's face right in front of him. Pale and emaciated, with bruises and cuts all over it.

"Matt..." dry, chapped lips move. "Matt..."

Mello repeats his name over and over, the sound of his voice gets louder and deeper. The crackles return, deafening Matt completely.

He wakes up abruptly, sitting up and looking around with frantic eyes. Light still sits on the bed, typing at his laptop. The keyboard makes crackling sounds, much like those Matt heard in his dream. At least, it's now clear why he was hearing the crackles.

"I dreamed of Mello," Matt says, panting. "He was calling for me."

Light arches his brow, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"In any dream the most important thing is to wake up in time. I'm glad you managed to do that."

He says that, as though his words have some actual and deep meaning. Matt frowns, looking at the young man.

"Mello needs my help," Matt starts again, rubbing his face in anxious manner. "What if we won't be there in time? What if... when we find him, it will be too late?"

He whispers, still staring at Light. Auburn-haired man presses some keys on the keyboard, watches the screen for a few seconds and closes the lid of the laptop. He then stands up and starts fumbling in his pockets.

"Here," he says, tossing Matt something that he's dragged out. "Soothe your nerves."

Matt catches the object that crumples in his fist. A pack of cigarettes. Does Light know about his smoking habit? That's impossible, Matt's been hiding all traces as thoroughly as he could.

"Do you think you smelled of flowers when you first came here?" Light smirks, observing the perplexed expression of Matt's face.

_Oh. _

Yes, Matt definitely didn't think about the very first meeting.

"Thank you," he mutters, clutching the pack tighter in his hand. "I will go outside..."

Saying outside, he means a small open summerhouse in the courtyard. Each time he needed to take a smoke, he's been venturing there.

"Mind a company?"

Matt stares at Light for a second, and then shakes his head.

"No, not at all."

* * *

They both stand, elbows propped on the railing, while they watch a lazy sunrise. Birds chirp loudly, sound of their songs mixes with the rush of the ocean and city's awakening hum.

"Got a light?" Matt mumbles, clutching a cigarette between his teeth.

Light hands him a small metal zippo. Its surface is smooth and all the angles are rounded; it feels heavy and pleasant in Matt's hand.

"Thank you."

"Look how polite you are," Light says with some sort of feigned admiration.

Matt glances at him, feeling a bit annoyed. He puffs out a stream of smoke, and Light does the same thing.

For some time they stand there, smoking and not saying a word to each other. It feels strangely okay to just stay silent and watch the pinkish hues of clouds in the sky.

"Don't worry about Mello," Light suddenly says. "He's going to be fine."

"...Of course."

"While you were sleeping I found something," Light continues. "I suppose that's what we've been looking for. On the 17 of July, 1999, in London, Scotland yard started investigating a case. A young man disappeared without a trace, and two weeks later his body was found in the sewage. It would've been a usual murder, if not for one thing – a part of his thigh had been cut out. They started to look for the murderer, presumably also a cannibal, and got to know that two weeks before his death, the victim started seeing someone. They made a thorough investigation and found a boy the victim was dating. The suspect was working in a fast food restaurant. Seventeen year old boy, who had no passport or any identity card. They put him into a custody, but curious thing – after three days they let him go for lack of evidences, and closed the case immediately, claiming that victim committed a suicide."

"That's absurd," Matt says, staring at Light. "How could that be a suicide if a part of the victim's thigh was missing?"

"Exactly my point. That's why I think we should inspect that case closer. I also suppose the killer was the one we are looking for now. There are quite some similarities: age, location, unreasonable actions of the police... There is one more thing: the victim that he killed, was a tall, slender young man with dark hair."

"Just like..."

"Yes. Just like L," Light nods, and frowns. "That murder could very well be his first failure. The police found him, and if we are right in our assumption about hypnosis, it might be that he used his power to influence policemen. It's a miracle the records remained untouched."

Matt bites at his lips, worry blooming more than ever before in his chest. The man that kidnapped Mello is a maniac, probably even a cannibal. Who knows what he had in his mind, and what could he do to Mello?

"I want you to find people he was working with in the restaurant," Light says in a low voice. "We will have to question them about their colleague. Also, I strongly believe we should search the sewerage system in London, more precisely, we should send people to check the place where police found victim's body."

"Do you think... Mello is there?" Matt whispers, his mind already flashing with images of distorted body parts and blood.

"If my deduction is correct, Mello should be there."

"But why searching for the killer's ex-colleagues? We have to send people to search for Mello immediately!"

"Listen," Light tells him, putting his hands on Matt's shoulder in placating manner. "I understand your worry, but the case is not only about Mello's abduction. We need to question people who knew the killer in order to get a psychological portrait of his. Right now we know nothing about B, aside from that he's driven with desire to find L. But what will come next? What can we expect from him? We need to be ready to confront him, do you understand that?"

"Yes," Matt says quietly, avoiding to look into Light's eyes. He feels that Light grips his shoulder a bit more tightly, and turns his eyes back at the young man's face.

"L doesn't want to deal with this," Light tells so quietly, that it's barely audible. "I reckon he still has his childhood fear, and what's worse – he doesn't want to believe in B's existence. When the realization hits him, we should already have everything he will need to know. And I am certain that B's psych is a subject he'll be curious in. The information we gather, should serve him as protection."

"A childhood fear?" Matt asks, confused, and immediately understands it was a superfluous question.

"You don't have to know about that," Light tells him, releasing Matt's shoulder from his grip.

"Uh... Alright. I understand."

"Good. Then as soon as we come back, I want you to look for people B was working with. I will talk to L about my finding, and everything should be settled down."

"Why do you know so much about L?" Matt asks once again.

Light arches his brow sceptically, and Matt just knows this question was superfluous yet again. When will he learn?..

"I know just as much as I learned from my observation of him."

_'That doesn't explain everything,' _Matt thinks. _'For sure, I wouldn't guess L's childhood fear from just an observation.'_

Light drags two more cigarettes from the pack and hands one to Matt. Three more minutes they spend in the summerhouse, when the steps are suddenly heard behind their backs. Both Light and Matt turn their head to look at L, who stands leaning against the one of the wooden pillars.

"It's almost morning. I ordered some food, it's just arrived. Are you hungry?" L asks.

He looks pallid and tired. The shadows under his eyes deepened, and over all he looks like a ghost or a zombie with his a bit too long hair and ghastly appearance.

"I wouldn't mind a breakfast," Matt says, hiding a cigarette behind his back.

Light turns his eyes to look at the boy: bright and smiling, with pinkish cheeks and shiny eyes. Sometimes he dearly wishes for L to look just like that, to_ act _like that. It would be so much easier to take care of L, if he were less.. strong.

L stares at Matt intently, his look conveying a clear message: "Go back in the house." Light watches as Matt drops a cigarette onto the floor behind his back, and then whisks it off the summerhouse and onto the ground with his feet in an innocent manner. He can't help but smile, observing the trick that L's supposed to fall for.

Matt then shrugs and pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"I'll get going then," he says, shuffling out of the summerhouse.

L watches Matt until he disappears behind a large bush, and then turns to Light.

"I heard what you were talking about with Matt," he says quietly. "And I assent to your course of actions. I will immediately direct people to explore the sewerage system in London, though to be honest... if you are right, the chances of finding Mello alive are very thin."

"I know," Light replies just as quietly. "But there's no need to force that on Matt just yet."

L stays still, looking at Light with unreadable eyes.

"Have you made any progress?" the young man asks him, coming a step closer. "I've barely seen you for two days."

"No. Nothing. But at least everything seems to have settled down in the Wammy's House. They did restrict access to any outside world information, and it seems to be working. This shows that the problem lays indeed in mass media."

"What will be your next step?"

"I'll put under examination every Internet activity in Wammy's over the last two months. Luckily, every orphan has their own mean of connection, so I'll check the history of entries of those who were affected with killing frenzy. I suppose Matt could help me with that..." L murmurs, bringing his thumb to his mouth.

"I was going to charge him with another task," Light says, knitting his brows slightly.

"I believe his skills will be more efficient in what I want him to do," L remarks. "He seems much of help to you because of the connection you've managed to establish with him. But I suggest you take Near as your helper. I am certain his logical reasoning skills will surprise you."

"I hope so," Light sighs, and takes a final step to L, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling into the crook of L's neck. "I miss you."

"Raito-kun," L whispers quietly. "You remember about cameras and bugs here?"

"Yes," Light says, leaving a gentle kiss on L's neck before stepping away. "But we'll return to this matter later."

L nods, and smiles weakly.

"Let's go have a breakfast," Light stretches his lips in a smile in return. "You look like you haven't been eating for two weeks. And your hair keeps getting longer."

"That's nonsense," L grumbles, leaving the summerhouse, Light paces along.

"No, it's true. Have you seen yourself in a mirror?"

"I don't look into the mirrors."

"That's a pity. You're missing quite spectacular of a sight right now."

"Am I?"

"Oh yes, you are."

The banter seems never-ending, but it's just as enjoyable.

The sun's already risen, flooding everything with its bright light. Morning promises a good day, and maybe... maybe this day _will_ turn out good.

* * *

_My life is a thin ray of light... I am a step away from being bogged down in the darkness... Today I found another victim, my love. He looked just like you, just as depraved as you... I sliced that mock-top and it made me nor happier, nor more miserable... my conscience is clear... I don't wake up at nights – my sleep is tight... sometimes I even forget what I've done and what I'm going to do..._

_ When you eat flesh of a human, you steal their power and soul... that's what you said once... that's a load of bull... I think he started to rot on a second day already, but the meat was tough and its taste was peculiar... what should I do with the skull? Should I make an ashtray out of it, perhaps? I've seen such ashtray once, it was funny..._

_ He might have had children... I don't care about them either... even if they ask me 'where's our dad?', I'll show them the palms of my hands... because their father's here... in my hands... in my eyes... in my blood... he is not alive anymore, but neither am I... _

_ I love playing with fate... I gain pleasure in taking life of those who doesn't value it... his blood on my face... on my hands... on my clothes... it's better than an orgasm... But what about morality?... morality is coward's last stronghold... you know that just as well as I do..._

_ All women are the same, all men crave for just one thing... nothing can be changed in this world, except of oneself... _

_It's wonderful... to see the fear in the eyes of those who around me... Insanity is a narrow bridge between the shores of mind and instinct... I follow you, my love, like a blind child that crawls after his mother, smelling her scent... The sunlight confuses me... I lower my eyelids... I wanted to scare you once, but now... I want nothing but a total catharsis..._


	10. Apprehension

**Ch. 10 Apprehension**

A thin folder flops down onto the table right before L. The detective blinks and turns his head to peer at the rather angry looking young man who stands to his right, arms crossed on his chest.

"What is it?"

"Read this," Light tells him, narrowing his eyes.

Carefully, L extracts three sheets of paper out of the folder, and swiftly skims through the contents of text: _'My life is a thing ray of light...'_

"This is what _he_ wrote," Light says in a slightly shaking voice, while L reads the first sheet. "This is what she found in his notebook."

"She?" L echoes, casting a sideways glance at his companion.

"B's contact," Light explains. "We found five people that were working with B in that fast-food restaurant during 1999. They said quite many interesting things, including the fact he was more or less close with some girl that frequently visited their snack bar. We identified that girl. This is what she sent us."

"Details?"

"Name Alice Ann Jones. Age 32. Was born in Sussex, England. Currently lives in Toronto, Canada. At the age of 20 was studying at university in London, where she met the suspect. According to her, she and the suspect were a bit more than just acquaintances. She discovered this piece of writing in the suspect's notebook that he always had with him. Miss Jones says he used that notebook as a diary, and when she asked him to take a look at it, he gladly permitted her to. Obviously, she couldn't even think what he wrote there was true, so she interpreted his writing as some fiction story. Miss Jones says she especially liked the part you're reading right now, so she asked the suspect to make a copy of his writing, and he accepted her request. She says she pitied the boy and wanted to help him somehow... and she saw the opportunity in publishing his diary, or at least the piece of it. However, when she took the manuscript to the publishers, they refused to take it, claiming it to be ravings of a madman. Miss Jones saved the piece of writing, saying it had some dark magnetism in it, and kept the copy of it till this very day."

Light stops and takes a calming breath, lowering his eyelids.

"There is one more thing that I discovered while making research. It doesn't present much of importance, but I think you should know this. That man, whom B killed and feasted on at the age of seventeen, was actually B's client. As police investigated the case, they learned that the victim was using some escort services, and B was one of his... let's say one night 'flames'."

"I see," L mutters, leafing through the folder. "You said you talked to co-workers. What did they say?"

"Open the fifth page. Near made a short summary of their words," Light says, gesturing with his hand. "Mild, modest, reserved... that's what most of them said about him. However, there was one man who didn't exactly share that position. The cook claimed he found B strange, since the boy never ate anything during the work hours, and all in all acted inadequately. His opinion on B only worsened when he noticed some scars on his wrists and hands."

L keeps his silence, reading the papers through and not glancing up.

"So?" Light asks after a minute, taking a step closer to L. "What can you say about all this?"

"...Do you really need my opinion on the matter? Haven't you made your own conclusion already?"

"It would be nice to know what you think, nevertheless."

"I find his... letter informative. The thought disorder, incoherence, discontinuity, symbolism, emotional emptiness can be traced in this. Combined with personality description, perversion in the food choice, elements of both masochism and sadism in him, it makes it safe to say that B is insane."

"He wrote this for you, didn't he?" Light asks, lowering his voice a few tones.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"He calls you 'my love'..?"

L turns in his seat to look at Light and stretches his lips in a thin smile.

"He is insane."

Light nods and just as he opens his mouth to say something to L in response, the computer before the detective emits a short beep and its screen lightens up. L swiftly turns to face the monitor, simultaneously clicking few buttons on a keyboard and turning on a small microphone that stands before him.

"We found him," someone's voice announces through the speakers.

"Turn on your cameras, please," L says softly, leaning closer to the screen.

The monitor blinks and instead of bright white screen, a shaky, bit smeared image of a small round room appears on it. The cameras work in a night-vision mode, so everything's colored in greenish hues. The walls of the room are made of bricks, the ceiling is very low, and there's a dark figure in the very center of the room.

Light stares at the image intently, when he feels a tug on his sleeve. He glances quizzically at L who still has the sleeve of Light's shirt pinched in between his fingers.

"Switch on the rest of computers and transmit all the cameras footages on the monitors," L says quietly.

As an answer he receives a curt nod from Light, and then turns his eyes to look at the screen again. The image on it has changed a little. Right now it shows the dark figure in the center of the room up close.

"It's dark here, I'm not sure if you can see what I see," the voice from speakers resounds once again. "It won't help the matter greatly, but should we turn on extra flashlights?"

"Yes, please."

Few seconds later the screen brightens, and another second passes before Light finishes with adjustment of the transmission and all five screens in the room show the same scene from different angles.

"What is this?.." Light whispers, studying the image on one of the monitors.

A boy sits on a chair in the middle of the round room. His wrists are bounded behind his back, and his legs are strapped together. His eyes are closed, and some kind of an oxygen mask is attached to his face.

"Check the vital signs," L suddenly says in a stern voice. "Give me the better view of the device that's attached to the face."

Both man observe a slight bustle that's appeared on the screens, and then turn their eyes on one of the monitors that shows a clear image of a tank that stands behind the chair with unconscious boy.

"It's an oxygen cylinder," the voice from the speakers says. The camera glides upwards, to show a hose that's attached to the cylinder's top. "The hose is jointed to another vessel, I can't tell what's in there..."

Camera shows a rather small glass bottle, half-full with some liquid, that has a hose from oxygen cylinder dipped into the fluid. A bottle has some kind of a spout with another tube attached to it. This last tube extends to the oxygen mask that's on the boy's face.

"Please, determine the content of the glass vessel," L says, frowning. "Have you checked the vitals?"

"Yes. The pulse is barely palpable. Pupils do not contract when exposed to the light, no signs of body injury can be seen, hence the dilation is most probably due to drug mydriasis. The subject is breathing, judging by the movements of his chest and stomach."

"He is alive," Light says quietly, with some kind of a joyful astonishment in his voice.

L sends him a cautious glance, and leans closer to the microphone.

"Have you identified the liquid in the vessel?"

"I am not hundred percent certain, but judging by the smell and the look of it, it's the chloroform."

L's eyes widen for a second before he knits his eyebrows.

"Please, unbind the subject. Remove the mask from his face and render first aid. As soon as his vital signs turn normal, send him into my headquarters in Tokyo. I would also like to examine the breathing device you found there."

"Understood."

L still wears a frown as he switches off his mic and continues to observe the happenings on the screen. A minute later his computer beeps, notifying about the new mail he's gotten.

"What's that?" Light asks him quietly.

"They've sent me photos of the thing that was attached to Mello," L replies, glancing up at Light with tired eyes.

"Can I take a look?"

L shrugs and opens the files, moving aside to give Light a better view of the photos.

"What an odd construction..." Light murmurs, examining the photos. "Chloroform's being contained in a small glass vessel, and the tube connects this vessel with the oxygen mask. Through the upper hole of the vessel goes a hose from the oxygen cylinder... It means that one who breathes through that oxygen mask has to inhale a chloroform poisoned air, which in turn leads to constant state of unconsciousness. The mechanics of the system work much like a bong."

"We are lucky to find Mello in time..." L says quietly. "It's scary to think what could have happened if the oxygen in the cylinder ended. Besides, if B didn't calculate the amount of chloroform correctly, Mello would have died in a matter of few hours."

"Currently I am more concerned with the reason of such a contraption. Do you honestly believe it's safe to transfer Mello here, after his abduction?" Light asks, a worried frown on his face.

"You want to say B planned it this way, don't you? Yes, he most certainly spared Mello's life having a reason for it. He was positive that I would find Mello in time and once he's conscious, Mello in turn would be able to do whatever B commanded him to."

"There's a chance he programmed the boy to do something to _you_..." Light drawls.

"Then we have to be cautious. Let's not draw hasty conclusion, Raito. As soon as Mello regains consciousness, I will be informed about his condition and behavior. And if there'll be any deviations, then we'll think what should we do about it."

Light bites his lower lip, looking at L with anxious expression in his eyes. L is willing to take a risk and bring Mello here, only if to watch for any signs of mind impact. But there's still a chance that even being under close surveillance the boy can cause harm while not even being aware of his actions... Light frowns, wondering if there's any way to put another source of influence on the boy that will overpower the possible effects of the hypnosis...

"Why don't you tell Matt the good news?" L suddenly says, smiling softly. "I am sure he'll be happy to hear Mello's safe now."

Light stares at L for few seconds, pondering over his words. Matt... Matt who cares about Mello... Yes, perhaps Matt is the answer... Or is he? It's clear that Matt is concerned about his friend, but does the other boy reciprocate warm feelings?

"Yes," Light says after quite long pause. "I will do just that."

* * *

"Matt" Near mumbles darkly, poking Matt's back with some object.

"Huh?"

The red-head raises his eyebrows, turning to look at the boy. Near stands behind him with a bored expression on his face, and persistently pokes Matt with nothing other but Matt's own gun.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Matt yelps, snatching the weapon away from Near's hands.

"What does it look like? I'm giving you back the gun I've taken."

"Thanks, but there's no need to point it at me, you know."

"Why?" Near asks, staring at Matt, his eyes indifferent. "It has no ammo."

"So what? It still feels much unpleasant."

Near shrugs, sticking out his lower lip a little. He's been in the same room with Matt for twenty minutes now, and they still have nothing to do. Well, Near has nothing to do. Matt is busy with checking the internet history of those who were accused of murder in the Wammy's house.

Matt sighs and shakes his head ruefully.

"Listen, I'm quite preoccupied right now. Don't you have a work to busy yourself with? Help Light or something, I dunno."

"I've already done that, actually," Near mumbles, shuffling in circles around Matt.

"Then go to L and ask him to give you a task," Matt frowns and puts on his goggles as though they would help him to hide from Near. "I'm sure he'll gladly keep you fully occupied with a shit-ton of work."

Near ponders over those words for few seconds, before glancing at the red-haired teen with some sort of disdain. Matt seems to be completely engrossed into his work, clicking keys on a keyboard of his laptop rapidly, and barely blinking as he stares at the screen. He acts as though his work requires all of his brain power and physical strength, but in reality he just pretends to be awfully busy, thus gently pushing Near away. After their arrival at the headquarters five days ago, Matt's become quite secluded and nervous. Probably because of Mello's disappearance...

Near opens the door of their bedroom quietly, and walks away. His bare feet make scarcely audible sounds on the wooden floor with every step he takes. He stops abruptly, still looking down at his own feet and habitually curling a strand of his hair with his finger. The parquet glistens in the soft moonlight which makes his skin and clothes almost glow in the dark hallway.

His face remains emotionless, as he carefully scratches the wood with his toe. This situation is quite irksome. L brought them here for some reason, and aside from rendering minor assistance they do nothing. But does L really need a help? The case is not a dead end anymore, since there is a lead to go on with... Perhaps, L needs them here to finally make his decision and name the one who will become his substitute. Substitute... successor... equivalent... The words are degrading. Shouldn't the new L be better than the previous one? Shouldn't the best have the name that will overshadow the vapid and quite outdated detective L? Because L slowly but surely becomes old and dull. The way he handles the case, the way he lets someone decide for himself, is just plain humiliating. What a disillusion... And the worst is the fact L becomes personally involved. Not only with the case. He _cares_ for those around him, and that is a fatal mistake... That is why neither Mello, nor Matt can become L in the very essence of the word.

A long time ago Near picked open the word 'L'. He dissected it, and laid it on the micro-particles. And he came to a conclusion that L can not be a human. L and a human are two completely different concepts. Having become L, a human loses their 'self'. The identity erases, leaving just a shell that's filled with a mixture of mind, logic and desire to be the victor. Not a hint of a human in L. That human waits for a possible resurrection somewhere outside. Some said there was no fate worse for a spirit than to become just a body. And becoming a body with no spirit _is_ what being L means.

As a child Near didn't fully understand that concept. He, just like the others, was faced with L's legacy, and then he, Mello and Matt were left with no answers for their questions, but with the promises of something glorious ahead. It took time to even begin to understand what was the cost of that legacy. Growing up, three of L's possible successors seemed to fill in the niches that were carved long before them, but in which they could fit in. And now one of them has to simply occupy the last niche, the one for which they've struggled half of their life.

Near raises his eyebrows a bit, wondering what L's way to his title was, and if Near merely repeats almost every of L's own actions, that had already been done...

"There you are," a pleasant voice suddenly resounds, making Near flinch inwardly. The boy turns around slowly, to look at the young man who stands a feet away. Light smiles at him, his stance relaxed, but Near can feel something not exactly friendly or at ease in the air around the young man.

"I have some good news," Light continues, taking a step closer. "Thanks to our thorough investigation, we found Mello."

He pauses, obviously waiting for Near to say something. The boy tilts his head to the side, staring at Light with unreadable eyes.

"As far as I understand, he is alive?" Near finally asks.

"Why, yes! That's why it's the_ good_ news. He is unconscious at the moment, but he'll surely get better soon," Light says, flashing a bright smile.

Something is not right with this man. The apprehension tingles and tosses around, poking at Near's vigilance. He stays silent, watching the young man's further actions.

"Aren't you glad? I thought you were good friends," Light says, a perplexed frown on his face.

"I'm surprised he made it alive..." Near pauses. "But it's foolish to deny his abduction was his own fault. If Mello were found dead, it would've been only expected. But he's still living, even though I was fully expecting him to get killed. The felon spared him, and this fact should not be neglected. I suggest to observe Mello closely as soon as he regains his consciousness."

Light's face doesn't change as he listens to the boy's musings. He's stopped smiling, though, looking at Near with slightly concerned face. And that concern is most probably fake to the core.

"It feels as though you are indifferent to his fate..." Light remarks quietly, glancing at Near from beneath half-closed eyelids. "I'm sorry to say that, but your attitude is rather cruel."

For a long moment Near stares at Light, as if examining him. What does he need? Light changed the subject from investigation back to Mello... Does he want to find out something about the blond boy?

"You are mistaking," Near says calmly, once again fiddling with the strand of his hair. "I don't hold anything personal towards Mello. I merely assess his actions."

"Of course... But still, I can't help but feel quite astonished with your reaction. I can't say for certain, seeing that I've never met him, but, perhaps, Mello is at fault for such a treatment?" Light says in a half-questioning tone, as though his question is nothing but rhetorical.

"I suppose you will get a chance to make your own opinion about him."

"Well, I believe you are right," Light smiles. "Though, judging by what I've learned so far, Mello doesn't have many friends. It makes me wonder if the problem lays in him being an orphan... I once heard the orphans tend to get either very isolated, or they trust only few special persons around them. It's good if Mello is the latter type."

Near looks at the young man intently, and suddenly smiles just as artificial smile as Light has.

"I'm sure you can wait to ask all these questions Mello himself," he says, switching to Japanese. "And if you don't mind, I should get going."

He doesn't wait for Light to reply, and turns his back to the young man, walking away. What an unpleasant feeling the contact with that man leaves... He obviously doesn't care about Mello's personal relationship, he just wants to get some information. But what for?

Near knits his eyebrows, shuffling over the investigation room to get L's instructions. Light's intentions will get discovered sooner or later, and those intentions will doubtfully make any harm. It's just the feeling of some sticky slime after every talk with that man that bothers Near.

* * *

The door behind Matt's back creaks, and he sighs, slouching his shoulders in a feeble hope Near will simply ignore him.

"Busy?" the voice behind him enquires, and Matt just has to glance back to ensure that the voice doesn't belong to the albino boy, for it's doubtful that it could become a few notes lower and change its timbre in just ten minutes.

Light stands in the doorway, leaning slightly against the wooden frame, looking at Matt with neutral expression on his face.

The boy nods, turning his eyes back to the computer screen. Light can say whatever he wants without Matt looking at him. He's almost finished with checking and comparing the data, and he wants to analyze the result as soon as possible.

"Mello's whereabouts have been discovered," Light says quietly.

Matt's fingers hover and freeze just a millimeter above the keyboard. His heart seems to stumble and then fall down, making an uncomfortable and cold somersault in his stomach. The way Light said it... It was just not right. And why does he keep silent?

The red-haired boy turns his eyes at the young man, staring at him. He's not sure if the plea in his eyes asks Light to elaborate or to not say a word more.

"He was unconscious when they found him..." the young man continues, glancing sideways. "To say truthfully, from the very beginning there were very slim chances to find Mello alive."

Once again Light falls silent, his eyes still avoid to look into Matt's.

It's unbearable. Why not just lay the cards out? Matt doesn't know what's worse: to hear the scary and hope-killing words, or to endure this tension.

"Is he..." Matt begins, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes he can't utter the ending of his question.

Light heaves a sigh, closing his eyes for a second.

"Yes," he says simply, and then opens his eyes, looking straight at Matt. His lips slowly but surely stretch in a broad smile. "He is alive. And as soon as he feels better, he'll be sent here."

Matt gawks at the young man. Alive? _Alive?_

"You..." Matt begins, suddenly feeling dizzy. His hands are shaking for some strange reason, and he can't find any words to say.

It's quite unexpected for him to hear his own little chuckle, that fell from his lips. Perhaps, it's nervous, but Matt can't stop from chuckling quietly, until his giggles turn into a merry, relieved laugh.

"You asshole!" he exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Light, who smiles, looking at him. "And I almost believed..! You scared me shitless! Gosh..."

"You should've seen your face," Light says, smirking. "Priceless."

"That was not a thing to be joking about!"

"I'm sorry," Light makes a placating gesture with the palms of his hands. "It was foolish of me, I agree."

"Holy shit..." Matt sighs, shaking his head in disbelief.

He doesn't notice the peculiar and rather intent look that Light gives him, being too overwhelmed with the rush of emotions.

Perhaps, Matt doesn't notice this himself, but he can't stop smiling, while clapping on his cheeks in attempt to calm himself down. Well... the reaction tells almost everything Light needs to know. Though, it won't hurt to strengthen his conclusion.

"What will you do when Mello's here?" he asks, masking his inquire as a friendly question.

"Well... I dunno," Matt looks sincerely perplexed. He falls silent for a few seconds before a serious expression appears on his face. "I feel rather... guilty for his abduction. If I didn't let him go then, he wouldn't have to suffer through all that. So... you know... I want to apologize or something," he shrugs.

"Yes..." Light says gently, and pauses, waiting for Matt to glance up at him. "Even though Mello is alive, it's still uncertain if his condition won't worsen. To tell the truth, I want to ask you a favor..."

"Yes?"

"As I take it, Mello and you used to spend much time together? Please, keep this he's here, look after him for any disturbing or unusual behavior. I am not exactly certain if it will work, but maybe your influence will take some positive effect."

Matt nods, the understanding dawns fast on him.

"You're afraid he might cause harm,aren't you?"

"Yes. His mind could've very well been subjected to some impact. I'm afraid he might lose control of his actions."

"I see... I will do all I can."

Light smiles at him, and then quite suddenly pats on Matt's shoulder.

"Thank you."

* * *

L looks through the files on his computer, deciding which of them needs his attention first, when he feels someone's presence in the room. It's quite unnerving, so L squirms in his seat and then turns to glance behind him.

Near stands in the middle of the room, thin, pale and silent as a ghost. He stares at L before opening his mouth:

"My work with Light has been finished. I want you to give me a new task."

L watches the boy with half-hearted interest. It's hard to believe that Near is only a year younger than Matt... He looks so small, almost like a child. It's the look in his eyes that ruins the illusion of innocence and naivety, and in contrast to Matt, there's no air of youth and ardor around him. L feels a small sting of pity and guilt. Has the desire to win the race to become his successor made Near so... callous?

"Why don't you have a rest?" he says, trying to be as gentle and friendly with Near as he possibly can. "You look tired."

"I don't think it's right to laze time away," the boy remarks, rising his eyebrows slightly and casting an indifferent glance aside. "If you don't have anything to busy me with in the current investigation, give me another task. You still have some unsolved cases that you set aside for the sake of solving the more important one, don't you? I am willing to help you with those."

That's true. L does have other cases, but Light offered his help with them long time ago. It's some sort of their routine scheme of work that's not even once gave a single error.

"It's very nice to see your fervor for work, but I'm afraid that right now there's nothing I can busy you with," L says.

"What a pity..." Near mumbles, his cold eyes looking straight into L's.

"If Matt won't be against it, you can help him."

"No. His task is simple enough," the boy protests calmly.

L stares at him, not knowing what to say next. It feels almost as though Near tries to act hostile on purpose. Perhaps, that's the by-products of transitional age?

"Did you know Mello was found?" L asks, trying to get in touch with the boy somehow. "He will soon be here."

"Yes, Light told me," the apathetic expression of Near's face says more than his words.

"Did he?" L murmurs. "You two get along well?"

"No. To be honest, I don't approve of him in any way. He seems... untrustworthy. I know that you need someone to replace mister Wammy with, but I suggest you get another helper."

"Why?" L inquires, looking at Near with interest. "I think he is a perfect choice. His intelligence rivals mine."

"I didn't notice that. In my opinion he is a rather primitive man with self in mind."

It feels as though Near has some kind of a distorting mirror in his head. And everyone whom he meets, are being reflected in that mirror as stupid, disgusting beings. And what depressing is that Near is not aware that most of times he misses the underlying messages if they don't hold any threat or importance for him... It's scary when children deem themselves peerless geniuses, when they have no one whom they can respect amongst those around them. Because it make those children heartless. Other people lives mean nothing for them, for they see not _people_, but faceless resources.

Near's attitude painfully resembles L of Light's words, when the young man was telling about his desire to build a better world. Near probably has no idea just how much he acts like Light. And probably Near's aversion for the young man comes from their latent similarity.

L brings his thumb to his lips, nibbing at it while not taking focused stare off of the boy.

"I see," he says finally. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me."

Near nods and turns his back to L, ready to walk away.

It's foolish to try and change Near's world-view. Or, at least, L knows that he's not the one who should do that. He can only hope that someday Near will understand his mistakes, and it won't be too late for him to change.

* * *

A/N: The idea of the contraption, that was found along with Mello, is not mine. I took it from manga 'Manhole'. Read it, it's really amazing piece of work.


End file.
